I Was Dreaming of Home
by Lilac Reverie
Summary: Letty and Javier find themselves south of the border in a very deep pile of trouble. Will they ever find a place they can call home? Updated 11 Jul 18; ending fixed.
1. Chapter 1

**_UPDATE: 22_** ** _May 2018_** _My apologies to anyone who read the first 3 "chapters" when they were first published. I've combined and improved them with this revision. I've always been certain of where this is heading, but I was having a terrible time getting out of the snowbank. We're on our way now, but I must ask you to start over._

 _Also, A_ _viso:_ _this is going to be a very long fic. It was already substantial, but Javier just whispered in my ear (ooo! -shivers- Do that again, cariño!) about a twist at what was going to be the end, that's going to extend it even further. Unfortunately, my fulltime+ job leaves little time for writing, so it's going to take a while to get it done. Your patience is appreciated, and will hopefully be rewarded. (Damn that hitman, anyway. If he weren't so damn delicious, I'd wash my hands of him.)_

 _I hate begging for reviews, but your encouragement along the way would also be greatly appreciated. Let me know what you think!_

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _I'm writing this story after Season Two of Good Behavior, and before there has been any word (that I have heard) about renewal for a third. So there's the setting: Javier and Letty were last seen drifting west on a desert breeze with Teo's coke. This fic takes up a few months later._

 _Disclaimer: as much as I might wish otherwise, these characters do not belong to me. I'm just playing with them._

 _Content Warnings: non-graphic sex, some non-consensual  
Non-graphic violence, some against women, and its aftermath  
A little blood and some medical stuff  
And if you get past all that, there's some occasional curse words!_

* * *

 **Prologue**

The crash of thunder directly overhead jolted Letty out of a deep, dreamless, exhausted sleep, and she jerked upright, her gasp turning an instant later into a low cry of pain as the multitude of bruises and other injuries let her know she Should Not Have Done That. As she caught her breath, memory clicked at the same moment she registered what her hand was resting on, and she twisted around to peer anxiously down at Javier's face in the dim morning light. He hadn't moved all night, and his skin, under its own bruise collection, was far too pale and waxy for anything approaching comfort. But...

She lightly placed her fingers across his parted lips, wilting in relief when she felt the soft whisper of his worryingly rapid, shallow breath; then she laid her head again on his chest, closing her eyes, drinking in and taking strength from his miraculously strong, regular heartbeat. He lived. He'd survived the night.

Pushing herself painfully up again, she began checking on his makeshift bandages, ignoring the bedraggled chicken on Javi's far side. The hen watched her every move through suspicious, beady eyes, clucking softly, apparently thinking it was supervising. His crushed left hand, deeply bruised and apparently stomped on, seemed no less swollen – but no more so – than before. Two of the bandages – one on his left shoulder, and the terrifying tiny hole in his upper abdomen – seemed OK, with no fresh blood; but the third – the through-and-through on his right thigh – showed spots of bright red among the brown. Letty stared at it, horrified... then took a deep breath and forcefully decided it wasn't worth panicking about, for the simple reason that she quite literally could do _nothing_ about it. Both her blouse and his shirt – the only cleanish cloths within miles – had been pressed into service the night before as the bandages he already wore.

Something hit the back of her hand, startling her again before she realized it was a raindrop. The storm presaged by the thunder that woke her was rolling in fast, rapidly building a staccato drumbeat on the ruined roof of the derelict chicken coop that was their laughable shelter. Letty craned her neck and surveyed that roof warily, but it seemed to be holding; only a few leaks, thankfully none dripping on Javi.

She turned and looked through the opening, watching as the rain blotted out further, and then nearer, objects. It was falling _hard_ – which hopefully meant it wouldn't last long. "Water water everywhere," she whispered, licking her lips as she realized her thirst. Then she added, disgusted, "Letty Raines, try not to be such a fucking _idiot_. You're in a fucking _trash dump._ " She pushed to her feet, groaning, then duckwalked under the low roof to the gaping entrance. A quick survey of nearby piles of garbage revealed half a dozen large, empty, plastic water bottles, and she marked their locations before splashing out to collect them.

Back inside with her haul, she briefly held each one sideways under the mini waterfall by the doorway to rinse off their necks – probably a useless gesture but it made her feel like she was being sensibly cautious – and then placed them about to fill from the drips. Then she settled by Javier's side again – across from the chicken – and rested her hand once more on her lover's chest, feeling for the faint rise and fall as if her own life depended on it too. She pulled her knees up against her own chest, rested her forehead on them – and then the memories and the tears flooded in.

* * *

 **Chapter One**

Los Angeles was a _blast._ Letty was having The Time Of Her Life, and she knew it. She and Javier blew in on a desert wind and checked themselves into the Hilton under the names Diego and Lori Menendez, stashed the cocaine in another storage unit with some random junk in front as camouflage, and set out to thoroughly enjoy themselves. Javier had wanted to get rid of the coke as quickly as possible, selling it all at once to let others deal it, but Letty convinced him they'd make twenty or thirty times more distributing it themselves, so he reluctantly went along.

They hit a nearby club the first night, and Letty discovered to her surprise that Javier could _dance._ He quickly taught her the moves he'd grown up with, and she taught him the ones she knew. Before long they _owned_ whatever dance floor they stepped onto, choosing a different one each night. And with it, they rapidly collected a wide circle of acquaintances, and began making careful sales.

One morning a few days after their arrival, Letty was floored to find out that Javier had literally never once ridden on a roller coaster, and without a word she hopped up, dragged him out of his chair, and took him to Knott's Berry Farm pronto. The silly grin plastered on his face for the rest of the day meant more to her than all the diamonds she'd ever stolen. After that, they went to a theme park or the like every few days, seeking out a new one each time until they had hit every coaster in southern California.

And so they settled into their new life, doing whatever they felt like: shopping, sightseeing, spas, clubs, fancy restaurants and burger joints. As for their former livelihoods, they reached an unspoken truce. If they parted ways and each did their own thing for a few hours once in a while, neither of them asked the other what they had been up to. And both ignored new clothes, jewelry, cash or other items that regularly showed up, except to complement them. There was one solemn promise that Letty did make, and keep, however: she never touched the cocaine, nor any drugs, nor any hard liquor, sticking to the agreed few glasses of wine a day.

Yes, LA was sweet indeed.

Until they met Juan.

.

.

Juan presented himself as a hard-charging finance whiz in his late twenties, slickly handsome and proud of his Mexican heritage. He had purchased the usual small amounts of cocaine from them two or three times before. This time, though, he wanted about four times as much, saying he was going on a trip and wanted to stock up. Something about the whole deal put Javier on edge, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. So he and Letty met Juan at a cheap hotel as agreed to do the deal.

Juan was being pushy – too pushy, speaking in rapid Spanish to "Diego" while ignoring "Lori". His six-foot frame was restless, his long fingers repeatedly fidgeting with his watch and cufflinks. He kept asking about their source, wanting to know the ultimate origin of the goods. Javier changed his mind on the deal and raised his hand to scratch his head, sending Letty their private Abort signal – but it was too late.

The door burst open behind them, two more men charging into the room. As Javier and Letty whirled around, she saw Juan pull out a pistol from the corner of her eye. Even as she screamed "Babe – look out!", the butt of the gun met the back of Javi's head with a sickening thunk, and he collapsed. Letty lunged to grab him, never seeing the second pistol that connected with her own head, and she fell on top of her lover, spiraling down after him into the blackness.

.

.

Cold water poured over their faces from a bottle woke them up. They were seated, slumped onto cold metal folding chairs, facing each other, their wrists and ankles secured tightly to their seats with fat, unbreakable cable ties. They looked frantically around, seeing nothing but bare walls and cement floor, and a single garage-style door. They were apparently in a large, empty storage unit. Letty noticed that her feet were bare – then that Javi's were, too, and their jewelry had been removed, as well. Her skirt pockets also felt empty – her wallet and phone were gone. His too, probably.

Juan was standing just to one side, watching back and forth as they got their bearings. Two other men – apparently the ones who had burst into the hotel room – were standing near the door. Juan walked to the wall and put the empty water bottle on the floor, then turned to one of the others. "Tomás?" This man, even taller and thinner than Juan, and dressed in a designer three-piece suit, said nothing, but jerked his chin at the two prisoners, and Juan turned back obediently.

Javier and Letty stared at one another, both frightened, thinking rapidly. "Shh," he mouthed at her. "Let me lead." She nodded, clamping her lips together.

What followed was confusingly slipshod. Juan kept asking where they had gotten the coke, who was their supplier, where did it come from; punctuating the questions with punches and slaps to Javi's head and torso. But he didn't seem to be leading to anything else, just focused on the one thought. There was no backup, no rights, no handcuffs. Javier glanced repeatedly at Tomás by the door, evidently some kind of superior over Juan, then made a decision.

"You're not cops. You're not feds. You're not the law – any law," he said flatly, in English for Letty's benefit.

"Oh, great observation, Diego," was the sarcastic reply. "You're so very smart, aren't you?"

"Then what the fuck do you want?"

"What do I WANT?" Javier jerked his head around when he realized it was Tomás who had answered. He stalked forward to loom over Javier, Juan practically scrambling out of the way. "You come into MY turf, start taking over MY customers, and you think you can just waltz away with them and nothing's gonna happen to you?"

OK. This was a turf war. He could handle this. Javier started talking rapidly, switching languages frequently to keep the other men off-balance. "Look, amigos, it's not what you think. We're not staying in this business. Me and Le-Lori," oops, "we just fell into a few bricks, that's all. Once they're gone, they're gone. We don't _have_ a supplier. We're just unloading this one little bit, then we're _gone_ , man. It's your turf. You can have all your customers back, no problem."

Tomás obviously didn't believe him, and kept asking, over and over. Javier had to go into more detail about finding the coke, filling in the story. "It was an old friend who was moving it, on the East Coast. He died suddenly, in a car accident, and I found the last shipment. I have no idea where it came from, who his suppliers were." Not technically true, as he was well aware of the origin, but he had no names – nor would he have given any up. "We just wanted to move this cache, make some money, then we're moving on."

"And I'm supposed to believe this?" Tomás stood back a minute, staring, stroking his mustache, then swung around and turned to Letty. "Maybe your girl will tell me the truth." He walked around behind her chair and leaned over, massaging her shoulders, leering down her blouse. "How 'bout it, baby? Where'd you get the stuff?" He suddenly leaned over and licked her cheek as she flinched away.

"I don't know. I never knew where it came from. All I know is that's all there is. Diego's telling you the truth."

"Look, man," Javier cut in. "Enough. We'll give you all the rest of it. You can have it. Just let us go. We'll drive out of LA tonight and you'll never see us again."

They went back and forth a few times while he tried to convince their captors of their sincerity. Finally Tomás yelled suddenly, "Then where the fuck is it?" and Javier gave him the address of their storage unit and the access code to the gate. The man stared at him a minute, then said with a sick smile, "Stay right there. We'll be back." He motioned the third man, who had stayed silently by the door all this time, to stay and watch the prisoners, and he and Juan went out.

Javier and Letty stared at each other. "You all right?" he asked.

"Yeah. But he seriously needs to use some mouthwash." She didn't ask back, staring at one purpling bruise on his cheek. "How much is left?"

He snorted. "About half." Glancing at the watching goon, he didn't say aloud what he was thinking: I hope it's enough to satisfy this asshole. He looked back at Letty, who nodded at him, reading his mind. If letting go of the remains of their stash was what it took to get away, so be it. Time to move on.

Forty minutes crawled by as they waited in silence. Finally they heard a car drive up and stop outside the door, and the two dealers walked back in. Juan was carrying the bag of coke, and he almost threw it at them, but placed it on the floor instead. "This is it?" he yelled. "This is all you've got? Where's the rest?"

They went into it again, Javier repeating for the hundredth time that this little stash was all they ever had or ever would. "Just take it, and let us go. No hard feelings," he almost pleaded with them.

They stared at Javier for several long seconds, then Tomás started laughing, mean and unbalanced, enjoying whatever little joke he'd thought of. Juan and the other goon joined in, a little nervously.

"Oh, you're leaving LA, all right," Tomás informed the pair silkily. "But you're not driving out. You're coming with us."

"Where? What more do you want? You've got it all," Javier said a little desperately.

"Me? I don't want anything." Tomás stepped behind Letty again and leaned over her, caressing her shoulders lasciviously, staring at Javier to enjoy his coming reaction.

"Your uncle wants to talk to you... Javier Pereira," he hissed out Javier's real name with relish.

 **.**

 **.**

Letty was floating, caught somewhere between awake and asleep, bobbing gently between the two. Wait, what had she been dreaming? Javi and Jacob and dinner in the house he had bought her? And with the question, she realized she was awake, but didn't want to open her eyes just yet. She became aware of four things nearly simultaneously. One, somewhere very close by was a noisy engine roaring away; two, that engine was apparently making the surface she was laying on vibrate; three, she was massively uncomfortable, especially her arms; and four, she had a splitting headache, throbbing in time to the engine. It was the last that finally drove her all the way to consciousness, and she opened her eyes to a world that at first made no sense at all.

She was gagged, for one, with a nasty, oily rag stuffed into her mouth and held in place with another tied around her head. Her arms were bound behind her with a cable tie – she could feel it digging into her wrists – and laying half on them, half on her side, was the source of the discomfort. Her legs were similarly bound around the ankles, and she was still barefoot. A quick mental check of the rest of her clothes – a mid-length skirt, blouse, short denim jacket, underclothes – seemed unmolested, if a little crooked from the handling she had obviously endured. And she was stuffed into... what, exactly? Peering upward, she fought for a moment to identify surfaces and objects, then focused on a rounded square of glass, and beyond it blue sky, and then it made sense. She was lying on the floor in the back of a tiny (probably single-engine) airplane, behind the two seats. As her head was directly behind – nearly under – those seats, she couldn't see who was sitting in them. The plane was most definitely in the air.

She then registered warmth behind her back, and cloth brushing her fingers, and twisted around to see. It was Javier, lying on his back, bound and gagged as she was, still unconscious. With the sight, recent memory finally returned.

Back in the storage unit, Javier had attempted to deny his real name, but Tomás had sneered that off – Javi's instant reaction to hearing it had already given him away. So he'd switched tacks, asking and finally nearly pleading with their captors to let Letty go, as she was innocent, having nothing to do with his family. Tomás had let him beg for a while, appearing to consider the possibility while looking her over insultingly, stroking his mustache with finger and thumb – and then abruptly grinned evilly. "Nah," he said to Javier. "She's coming with us. She's my reward, for finding you and turning you over to your uncle. You're going to get what you deserve." And he'd ended with a string of Spanish that Letty decided she was glad she couldn't translate, from the look on Javi's face. Then all at once Juan was there with a rag and a bottle – chloroform, apparently – knocking a struggling Javi out with a few drops before holding it over her own nose and mouth, and the world fell away.

Letty wormed around until she was lying on her side in the tiny space, facing Javi, then inched over and began gently butting the side of his head with her forehead. It took a couple of minutes and increasingly insistent bumps before he began stirring. She lay back and watched the side of his face as he struggled his way to consciousness, his eyes at last flying open, and he fought against his bonds for a moment before realizing they were holding. He looked wildly around before his gaze came to rest on her own face, and she saw memory returning behind his eyes before they closed again in what seemed like anguish. So she butted his cheek again with her forehead.

He looked up at the ceiling, seeming to click on their surroundings faster than she had, then he wormed around till he was lying on his side, facing her. His face clouded over again with what was definitely anguish this time, his eyes trying to pass a message. _I'm sorry, baby. I'm so very sorry. You shouldn't be here in this hell._

She raised her head at that, giving him the fiercest stare she could, then shook her head violently. _Fuck_ _that noise, Mister Pereira,_ she thought hard at him, wishing he could read her mind. _I_ _chose_ _this life._ _No_ _regrets._

Whether he got that message or not, she couldn't tell, but his face slowly relaxed, his eyes crinkling, and she could tell he was smiling at her defiance under his gag. He brought his own forehead to touch hers, gently, almost like a kiss. And then they simply lay there, drowning in each others' eyes, for what each of them was terribly afraid would be the last time ever.

The engine's whine dropped a note, and the floor tilted as they began their descent. Wherever they were headed, they had arrived.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two  
**

The tiny plane landed on a rough runway, bouncing its unwilling passengers hard. "You guys OK back there? Speak up!" Tomás' merry voice came from the front, accompanied by snickers from an unseen passenger. Letty rolled her eyes so hard at Javier it hurt.

At last it came to a stop and the engine died. They heard the front doors open and close, then the hatch by Letty's side slid back, revealing Tomás and the third silent man from the storage unit. "Bienvenidos a Mexico!" Tomás grinned maliciously, taking a rag and a suspiciously familiar bottle from his companion. Furious, Javier yelled through his gag, then shook his head, hard. "You don't want sleepies?" Tomás was all mock innocence. "You promise to be a good little boy and girl?" Both his prisoners nodded, reluctantly playing along. He screwed up his face, making a show of considering, then grinned again. "Too bad!" And the rag was applied to each in turn, spiraling them down again.

.

.

Javier jerked awake as his arms were hauled up over his head, pulling him upright before he could react. He scrambled to get his balance, discovering he could move his feet – but only a little; they were loosely hobbled but not tightly bound. His hands had been cut loose of the cable tie, then retied before him, then attached to the rope running down from a pulley in the ceiling that was now holding him up, just enough slack to stand flat-footed rather than on his toes. His gag was still in place. Aside from his missing shoes and socks, the rest of his clothes – casual pants, thin t-shirt, button-down shirt – were all there.

He looked around, trying to get his bearings. It looked like an unfinished basement, with household odds and ends and a few chairs scattered about. There was no sign of Letty. The silent man from before was tying off the rope to a hook, out of his reach, while Tomás looked on from a few feet in front of Javier. When the man was finished, Tomás jerked his head towards the door, and the two of them were left alone.

Tomás stared silently at Javier for a while, then removed his jacket and vest, draping them over the back of a chair, and rolling up his shirt sleeves. Javier knew what was coming, and tried to brace himself for it.

Without a word, Tomás began sparring with his human punching bag, just hard enough to hurt and punish, not enough to inflict deep, serious internal injuries. Javier grunted hard as the breath was knocked out of his lungs, and continued with each blow, coming just fast enough that he could never quite catch his breath through his nose. After only a few minutes, he blacked out again from pain and lack of oxygen.

.

.

The world came back to Letty in a familiar sickening whirl, and she reacted as she always did to a nasty hangover, flinging out her hands to grab onto whatever surface she was lying on to stop the spinning. One hand smacked hard against a wall, and the pain of it brought the room's movement to an abrupt halt – but it also went streaking through her stomach. Instinctively she rolled the other direction, finding the side of the bed – it _was_ a bed – and vomiting over it onto the floor. It only took a couple of retches to empty out, and gradually the heaves slowed and stopped. Panting, she carefully rolled back, and opened her eyes a crack, remembering the chloroform, the kidnapping, and all the rest (and realizing this wasn't the usual hangover).

She was in a tiny room, just big enough for a double bed and a small, empty set of rickety wooden shelves. Beyond her feet, the far wall held a door with a small square window – covered on the outside – inset in the center. On either side were a tiny sink and an industrial toilet. There were no windows. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling. The room was made of bare, unfinished concrete blocks with stains here and there that she didn't want to think about. The bed was little more than a metal cot, with a bare, stained mattress and a single ratty-looking blanket folded up at the end.

Staring wide-eyed, she spied a tiny camera up in one corner by the ceiling, out of reach. Somebody was watching.

Letty's heart was cracked open and bleeding, shock and fear ricocheting around her skull. Was this a prison? Or a brothel? Or both?

.

.

Cold water thrown in his face woke Javier up again, and he managed to get his feet under him and stand, relieving the pressure from his arms. Not that he could feel them any more, or his hands. He discovered the gag had at last been removed, the silent man from before offering him a drink from a small bottle of water, which he accepted greedily till it was empty.

The silent man stepped back then, revealing Tomás, smirking. When he didn't immediately step forward to resume punching his prisoner, Javier took advantage of the missing gag. "Where's Letty? What have you done with her?"

Tomás only smirked harder. "She's fine," he replied oilily. "Enjoying our spacious accommodations."

"Let me see her," Javier went for broke. "Or I won't tell you anything."

Tomás was surprised at the change, laughing at his captive's defiant tone. But then he pulled his phone out from a pocket, clicked a few buttons, and turned it to face Javier. Apparently he had an app connected to a camera in her room – wherever that was. Javier saw bare walls and floor, a rickety bed – and Letty, curled up at the far end of the bed, arms around her knees. "Letty..." he called her name out low without thinking.

.

.

Letty was just trying to breathe, trying to remain calm, when suddenly she heard Javier say her name. It sounded like it came from the camera. She stared up at it. "Javi?"

"Letty!" came again – it was definitely him.

She jumped off the bed and ran to that corner – the one above the toilet. "Javi!" she called again. But no more answer came.

.

.

As soon as Javier said her name again, Tomás whipped the phone back and turned off the app. He'd forgotten that video doorbell camera he'd installed in the holding cell came with two-way sound. Stuffing the phone back into his pocket, he smiled cruelly at his captive. "There. You've seen her. Now you'll talk." And with that, he stepped back, and Javier finally saw the third man in the room, and his heart sank down to his knees.

Tío Jorge.

His father's younger brother, whom Javier had not seen since that awful year when Santino had died, and he had been kicked out of the family. The man was little changed. He'd always looked like a slightly younger, stockier, more worried version of his brother Oscar. Javier had no idea whether Jorge had followed Oscar into the "family business", but it seemed likely. He was scowling now at his nephew, as though Javier were an especially bothersome insect.

Javier licked his lips and tried to stand straighter, gathering himself up. "Tio Jorge..." he began.

Jorge cut him off. "How dare you call me that!" he replied sharply in Spanish. The entire conversation would be held in that language, Jorge disdaining to speak English. "After what you have done... You are no longer family."

"What I have done?" Javier echoed. This couldn't be about Santino still. "I've done nothing!"

"Stop playing games! Your father and brothers are dead at your hands. After all these years, you take your revenge. Do you deny this?"

"Of course I deny it! I had nothing to do with their deaths! It wasn't me, it was Teo!" Sick with disgust, fear, and outrage, Javier talked as fast as he could, telling his uncle how his childhood friend had tried to take over the business, killing any who got in his way, and moving back into Ava's life and taking it over, too. Jorge didn't believe it of course, and kept peppering Javier with questions, trying to trip him up. But Javier stuck to the truth as he knew it, with one exception: he claimed that HE had fired the fatal bullets that took Teo's life. He would never give Letty up to anyone.

"And how did you get the cocaine?" Jorge asked for the hundredth time.

"I found Teo's last shipment in Ava's restaurant. I took it and left him a note – he'd already escaped from me – to meet me if he wanted it back. But he went to my house instead. I found him there and shot him. I needed the money, so I brought the coke with me out here – out to LA – to sell."

"And set yourself up in Teo's place?"

"You know that isn't true! If you are at the other end of the pipeline, you know the shipments stopped when Teo disappeared. You know I never contacted anyone to arrange for more." Javier was tired, so tired. "Please, Tío. Cut me down. I can't feel my hands or arms any more. How could I attack anyone?"

Jorge considered a moment, then nodded at Tomás, who pushed a chair behind Javier before he loosened the rope running through the pulley. He didn't untie anything, though, just in case. Javier sat with relief, his dead arms flopping down into his lap, bracing himself for the agony he knew was coming as the feeling came back. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Something was off with this interrogation, just as he had sensed with the previous one, but he couldn't put his finger on what. How he wished Letty was there to help! She had a knack for seeing right through things.

Jorge still wasn't satisfied. "Why did you drag Carlos into this? Why couldn't you let him be?"

Javier flashed. "I didn't drag him in! He came to _me_ to tell me of Papa's and David's deaths! When he found out I was holding Teo in my basement, he _begged_ me to let him watch Teo while I took care of some other business. He said no one thought he could handle anything, but he could handle that." Even now, thinking of Carlos hurt more than all the rest of it. "He was wrong. And I was so wrong to let him. Teo killed him and got away. He left a note saying 'Carlos let me pee' to taunt me."

"So you _do_ admit your responsibility for that."

Javier stared at his uncle with something akin to hatred, though he couldn't have said who it was directed at. "I didn't kill him," was all he said. He wasn't going to argue with Jorge about greater responsibility – his conscience did enough of that already.

Jorge was silent for several long minutes, considering what he had heard. Apparently he decided at last that his nephew was telling the truth, for he said, simply, "You are pathetic. My brother was right to turn you out of the family. I will not let you back in."

Staring back, Javier nearly scoffed. Whatever family Jorge represented, Javier wanted no part of, anyway.

Jorge seemed to come to a decision, for he opened his mouth again – and at that moment, his own phone began ringing in his pocket. Disgusted, he took it out and looked at it – and then turned away to take the call quietly in a corner. Neither Javier nor Tomás could hear what was said. Javier took the opportunity to turn to his captor. "Let her go," he said quietly. "She's innocent. Please."

Tomás simply shook his head. Javier looked away for a moment, heaving an exhausted, exasperated sigh. Then he looked back. "You've been feeding her, right?"

Tomás barked a laugh. "Feeding her?"

"She's always hungry," Javier said defensively. One corner of his mind realized what a ridiculous turn this conversation had taken, but he'd do whatever small things he could to help Letty. He was about to say more when they were rejoined by Tío Jorge.

Jorge ignored Javier this time, saying to Tomás, "I must go. I haven't decided what to do with this worm yet. Hold him until I contact you."

"What about my supply?" Tomás asked quickly. "I have done what you asked."

Jorge cut him off. "We'll talk later." And with that, he stalked out of the room. Tomás stared after his back, glanced at Javier, shrugged and hurried out after his guest.

.

.

Through the long hours that had passed since she woke up, Letty had been alternating between terror and despair. Hearing Javier over the video link had only made it worse – this was obviously no normal prison. What it actually was, she didn't want to think about. It was absolutely quiet, the concrete block walls keeping out every single sound. No one came near, or opened the door, save once.

She was dozing on the bed, her back against the far wall, her knees up to her chest, when the lock clicked. Jerking up, she saw the door open a few inches and a disembodied hand reach in, depositing a small loaf of bread on the edge of the sink. The door had closed again and the lock clicked once more before she could react. She sprang to the door, pounding on it and calling out, "Wait! Come back! Please – por favor!" But no one answered.

She stared at the bread for a minute, then decided nothing would be gained by going hungry. She choked down the stale loaf, using her hands to drink water from the sink to wash it down with. Then she used a bit of toilet paper to clean up the vomit off the floor, washed her hands without soap and dried them on her skirt, and went back to her perch on the bed.

Where was Javier? What were they doing to him? What would they do to her? She wished they would get on with it.

Gradually, however, a steely calm came over her. She wasn't dead, or even wounded. Nor was she defeated - not yet. Wherever Javier was, whatever he was doing, he would not give up on her, nor she on him. Somehow they would find each other again, just as they always did, and together they would find a way out of this mess. Until then, she had to get thru whatever was coming.

She started taking deep breaths, using the lessons she'd only ever half-learned from her old self-talk app to force determination to survive and escape into every crevice of her being. She'd always been fragile, but she told herself over and over that she was tough enough.

.

.

Javier felt the car come to a stop, and the engine died. Steps came around to the back, then the trunk was opened, revealing Tomás and his ever-present silent companion, who reached in and dragged Javier out and onto his feet.

He blinked in the brilliant sunshine, peering around. They were in the middle of a dump, large piles of garbage stretching stinkily off in every direction. He couldn't see anything of note on the horizon.

They'd left the gag off, cut his feet loose, and forgone the chloroform this time, herding Javier out of the basement, up some stairs, into a garage, and into the trunk of a big Mercedes with a pair of pistols instead. One he might have handled, had his hands been free and the feeling returned, but he wasn't up to two. The long ride in the trunk – he estimated nearly an hour – had at least brought his arms and hands painfully back to life.

At a word from Tomás, the other man brought out a pocket knife and cut the cable tie from Javier's wrists, then stepped away quickly, pointing his pistol again.

Javier stared around, then back to his captor. "What's going on here? You promised to hold me for Tío Jorge. This isn't what he ordered."

"Change of plans," came the short reply. "He didn't come through with his promises, so I'm not bound to mine."

"A little impatient, aren't you?" but Tomás only shrugged. Javier stared at him, trying to divine, for the tenth time, how crazy – and how dangerously unpredictable – this man was. And it was then that he finally pegged him. Javi had been off-balance this entire time, trying to figure out the players and plays. He wasn't usually this stupid - people who bought his services were usually very easy to figure out - but the whole drug trade just wasn't his milieu. And seeing Tío Jorge had really thrown him for a loop.

But Tomás? Just another wannabe. A little fish in a big pond, trying desperately to pump himself up and get bigger. He'd thought Javier was his ticket to the big table, but Jorge must have stomped that idea hard. Javi was just another little fish, after all. Come to think of it, so was Jorge.

"Move," Tomás ordered. His pistol motioned Javier away from the sedan and into the dump. Javier hesitated, trying to think of a way out, then when the pistol moved to point at his head, turned and began walking gingerly between the piles of garbage, not used to being barefoot. He went about fifty feet before he was stopped again.

"Kneel," came the command, and Javier rebelled. Tomás had probably never even killed anyone before, and Javi was damned if he was going to make it easy for him.

"No." He turned around to stare at his captors.

Tomás put on his dramatic air again, acting like a character in a telenovela. "You can die slow, or you can die fast. But you ARE going to die here today. Your choice."

"I'm not dying on my knees," Javier replied, suddenly absolutely furious. " _Fuck_ you." And he turned again and started walking away, further into the dump. With every step, he was completely certain he'd hear the guns behind him, feel the bullets tear into his back and rip him away from life. The miasma of garbage rotting in the sun filled his nose, and he fleetingly wished for something better for his last moments. His mother's flower beds flashed through his mind, the scent of roses almost palpable, then it was gone.

Ten steps. Twenty. Twenty-five. What were they waiting for? He knew they weren't going to let him go.

The shots finally echoed off the surrounding piles. The first bullet hit his thigh, spinning him around, and he felt at least two more hit his torso as he collapsed. He lay on his back, astonished at the excruciating pain, fighting for breath with lungs that were on fire.

Tomás suddenly loomed over him, pointing his pistol at Javier's head. "I told you," he said, as though explaining to a naughty child. "Now you'll die slow."

Javier whipped out his left hand, trying to hook Tomás' leg and bring him down, but the other man was too quick. He kicked the hand away, connecting painfully with the toe of his boot, and then stepped on the hand, grinding it slowly into the dirt. If Javier could have taken a breath, he would have screamed, but all he managed was a short, strangled moan.

Tomás leaned over to get his attention again. "Have fun dying," he said cheerily, then pumped poisonous cruelty into voice and face. "While I'm fucking your girlfriend." And with that, he turned and left.

.

.

The unlocking of the door jerked Letty out of her doze again, and she scrambled to her feet. No disembodied hand, this time – instead, Tomás stalked into the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Where's Javier?" Letty demanded before he could say a word. Her nerves, which she'd been furiously trying to steel all this time, were pinging like a sonar. "Let me see him."

Tomás was obviously taken aback. "Why?"

This in turn threw Letty. "Because... he's my husband." He wasn't, but they'd been presenting themselves as a married couple for months. It was the only response to that inane question she could come up with on the spot.

Tomás shook his head with an ugly grimace. "Not any more. You're mine now. And you'll do what I tell you." He didn't bother with threats, just stating a fact.

"Take me to him. Let me see him. And..." Letty floundered, then steeled herself once more to do whatever she had to in order to survive and escape. "Then I'll do whatever you want. Just let me see him."

"Whatever?" His eyes parading down her body left no doubt as to what he had in mind, had she been at all unclear what she was promising.

At that moment, she hated him more than Sean. But he held all the power, just as her former lover had. "Yes."

Tomás stared at her a moment, considering, then flashed her a triumphant smile. "OK. I'll take you to him – after." He motioned at her skirt with up-flicking fingers.

"You promise?" Letty couldn't believe she was asking such a stupid question, but it was all she had to go on.

His look said he agreed with the stupid part, but then he nodded, trying to look cherubic. "Promise. After." He motioned to her skirt again, impatiently.

Letty waited a second longer, then glared at him as she reached for her hem. "Just don't expect me to act like I'm enjoying it." She lifted the skirt up to her waist, pulled off her panties, and lay down on the double bed.

She kept her face toward the wall, eyes tight shut, doing her very best to ignore him, pretending it wasn't her body this was happening to. She remembered she'd once told Javier (before the last time she'd run away) that all they could see was each other, everything else fading into the periphery. She deliberately used that fact, concentrating as hard as he could on the image of his face in her mind. Remembering his delighted roller coaster grin, she added it to the image, doing her best to lose herself in it. She refused to think about them making love, however; she would not give Tomás the satisfaction of an iota of positive reaction, however misdirected.

When Tomás was finished and rolled off, she scrambled to her feet as well, putting her clothes back in place and standing to face him. "Javier. You promised."

She had about one second warning as his hand whipped up, slapping her hard across the face and sending her sprawling across the bed again. She started to sit back up, but saw his fists bunched, and instead curled up into the tightest ball she could, burying her face in her knees and wrapping her arms around her head for protection. His fists slammed into her back, butt, and side again and again. Finally one connected with her kidney, and the starburst of intense pain made her grunt out a muffled scream before she blacked out.

.

.

The sun was baking Javier, burning through his closed eyelids until he was sure his eyes were smoking. He found he could move his right arm, and he brought it up to cover his eyes with his elbow. That was a little better.

Every breath brought a fresh stab of pain, nearly making him black out again. Deep breaths were out. He concentrated, trying as hard as he could to temporarily block everything else out, to make his breathing shallow, moving chest instead of diaphragm. Slowly, slowly, the pain eased a tiny bit, until he could handle it.

What else was wounded? He forced himself to start a mental inventory. He concentrated as hard as he could on his right foot, until at last the toes wiggled, then the ankle flexed. OK. Right foot good.

Bit by bit, he went through each part of his body: right calf, knee, thigh – that was one mass of pain. He started again at the left foot, then continued on. Finally he had the various pains located: right thigh, left shoulder, left hand, abdomen – and the bruises he'd collected around his torso from being Tomás' punching bag. Everything else was OK. Comparatively.

He had to get out of the sun, before he was baked to a crisp. But where, and how?

Bringing his right arm back down, he slowly managed to get that elbow underneath him, and propped himself up on it. Squinting in the impossibly bright light, he looked around at the piles of garbage on all sides.

There! Amazingly, off over one shoulder he saw the remains of some sort of tumble-down shack. It was ruined, leaning to one side and half caved in, but it was a roof.

It was also about fifty feet away. He knew without thinking about it that he would _never_ make it onto his feet. How was he to move there?

He had one good arm and one good leg. He cocked his left knee, bringing that foot up, then inched his right elbow away in the direction of the shack. Trying to keep his breath shallow, he pushed on his foot, shoving himself a scant handful of inches across the ground. And again. And again.

Some impossibly long time later, he looked back and saw the trail he was leaving; drag marks and a streak of red. He was losing a lot of blood. Looking down, he realized most of it was coming from his leg wound. He had to stop it.

Somehow, he managed to undo the buttons on his shirt, using his teeth on his right cuff since his left hand was useless, and twisted the shirt off. He pushed himself up so he was sitting, and wrapped the shirt three times around his thigh, using good hand and teeth to tie the shirt arms in place. Then he leaned back, panting, trying to rest without lying down – he knew he'd never make it back up again. Finally, he began his painful snail's progress again.

The sun was definitely slanting by the time his head poked into the roof's shadow – and stopped, staring unbelievingly. His way was suddenly barred by a scrawny, bedraggled chicken. Apparently the shed had been a coop in a previous life, and its lone former inhabitant was still in possession. The chicken glared, clucking evilly. Javi stared.

"Con su permiso, Señora Pollo?" he asked politely. No reason to be rude.

The hen appeared taken aback. It gave a couple more thoughtful clucks, then... turned and walked to one side.

"Gracias." Javi pushed himself on in, over to the boulder forming the back wall of the shed, carefully laid himself down again, and as he relaxed, quickly passed out once more.

.

.

A large hand roughly shaking her shoulder brought Letty awake, and she instantly reacted, slapping the hand away. Tomás pulled it back and laughed at her as she stared around wildly, trying to get her bearings.

She was sitting beside Tomás in the front seat of the car he was driving, having been slumped against the door. They were in the middle of a dump, amid piles of stinking garbage.

" _Take me to Javier!"_ Tomás shrilled in falsetto, mocking her. Then, "He's there! Go find him!" He waved vaguely out her window.

"What?" she spluttered, unable to take this in at once.

But Tomás was done explaining. He leaned across Letty, yanked the handle, and pushed the car door open. Then he swiftly unbuckled her seat belt and threw it across her (she scrambled to bring her arm out), and finally put his hand roughly on her hip and simply shoved her out the door.

Letty went sprawling in the dirt, and had the presence of mind to keep rolling away from the car. Tomás gunned it, spinning the car in a circle and spraying her with gravel before roaring off back down the dirt road. She could hear his shouted laughter floating back.

"Son of a BITCH!" She yelled after him. Her side and back were one big bruise from his fists, she discovered, and now she had scraped hands, elbows, and knees to add to it. Not that he cared.

Where the hell was she? She hadn't a single clue. Somewhere in Mexico, she assumed – he had "welcomed" them to the country when the plane had landed – but that was literally all she knew. And now she was dumped. All alone. In a dump. Fantastic.

She managed somehow to get to her feet – which were still bare. Terrific. Letty looked around at the piles of garbage, holding her nose against the stench. What the hell was she going to do now?

She stopped, thinking. Tomás had said Javier was here - "Go find him!" She had no reason to believe him, but no reason not to. There was every chance that Javier had been dumped here too. She shied away from asking whether that would have been before or after he was killed.

But if he WAS here, she had to find him. She turned slowly in a circle, looking around. From what she could see, the dump covered several acres, on both sides of the road. But, she reasoned, Tomás probably wouldn't carry a body very far. If Javier _was_ here, he'd be near the road. She started walking slowly, paralleling the gravel roadway, picking her way along, looking all around for any sign of her missing lover.

A short time later, she came to another, even smaller, road branching off the one she was following. Looking closely, she thought a car might have been driven along it recently, so she turned to follow. A hundred yards down this new track, she saw what appeared to be a tumble-down shack a ways to the right. Shrugging, she started towards it, then stopped. Something heavy had been dragged along the ground, in a line towards the shack. Something that had bled. Brown stains marked the path.

She looked all around again, but saw nothing of note. Whoever or whatever had been dragged was in that shed.

There was a piece of two-by-four sticking out of a nearby pile, and she carefully picked it up. She had no idea how to use any kind of weapon, but having something in her hands made her feel a bit better. She cautiously crept to the shed, listening hard for any movement, but heard no sounds.

She crouched a few feet away from the shed and peered into the darkness, trying to will her eyes to adjust. Finally, she made out a body lying at the far side of the small structure. It wasn't moving.

She crept closer, poked her head inside – and dropped the wood. It was Javier. She scuttled across to him, taking in his condition in a glance. He was lying on his back, eyes closed. Blood was all over his chest, and he – or someone – had tied his shirt around his leg. It was soaked in blood, too. And he wasn't moving. Cupping his face in both hands, she tried calling his name, gently patting his cheeks, but there was zero response.

"Oh, please, god, don't be dead!" She put her fingers to his neck, but felt nothing. But then, she'd never been any good at feeling a pulse that way. Instead, she leaned over and put her cheek just above his mouth and nose, holding her own breath as she waited. In seconds, she sobbed in relief when she felt the stirring of air. He was breathing. She laid her head on his chest then, and sobbed again to hear his heart beating.

Sitting up again, she jumped and nearly screamed when something moved by her elbow. She stared. It was a chicken, half its feathers missing, stalking around Javi's feet and moving up to his far side. It settled down next to his hip like a pet and stared back at Letty.

"You know, if he were awake, he'd be planning to cook you." The chicken was unimpressed.

Stripping off her blouse before replacing the denim jacket, Letty then found a piece of broken glass and hacked and ripped the blouse into pieces. Folding them up, she loosened his t-shirt where it was sticking to his two upper wounds, slid the blouse into place over each one, and replaced the t-shirt to hold them in place. It wasn't tight, but she had no way of tying them in place, and neither of them seemed to be actively bleeding at the moment. She put pressure on them with her two hands for a while instead. She didn't think she could do a better job on his leg that his own shirt was already doing.

In only a few minutes, it was too dark to see if he was still bleeding through the bandages; the sun had finally set and the moon wasn't up. The heat of the day was dissipating, but who knew how cold it was going to get overnight? Letty lay on the ground, tight beside her lover, bringing his good arm around her and holding it on her hip, just as he would do if he were conscious. It was all she could do to try to keep him warm. Then she laid her head on his good shoulder, held him close, and let exhaustion carry her away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The rain was ending. The downpour hadn't lasted very long after all, the thunderous beat of it on the derelict coop's tin roof rapidly dwindling down to a light rattle before it trailed off completely.

Letty sat gazing at nothing much through the gaping hole across from her that served as the coop's entrance, just letting her mind drift. One hand still rested on Javier's chest with its bloody t-shirt, with a corner of her mind keeping tabs on the movement of his rapid, shallow breathing. He still hadn't moved or awoken otherwise.

She suddenly jumped, when the bedraggled chicken who apparently "owned" their shelter reminded her of its presence with a loud cackle. The hen stalked over to the entrance, ruffled its feathers and clucked a few times, then made its way outside to feast on the worms and bugs brought out by the storm. "Fucking bird," Letty commented.

She turned her head to look at Javier, but stopped mid-swing, staring, blinking hard to make sure of what she was seeing. The fucking bird had left an egg, nestled in the crook of her lover's far arm. It looked for all the world like an offering.

Letty reached across with her other hand and picked the egg up gingerly, making sure it was real – then she straightened up and peered around the edges of the coop for the first time. Numerous broken shells met her gaze... and several more intact eggs. Moving carefully, she gathered them up, ending with six whole eggs.

"But how can I tell if they're fresh?" she asked the air. The last thing she wanted to do was crack open a stinking rotten one.

"Put them in water," Javier commented from the doorway. She swung around to see him standing there, although she had to squint against the light behind him to see his brilliant smile.

"What?"

"I told you, remember? Put it in water. If it sinks, it's fresh. If it floats, it's not – it's developed an air pocket."

"Right," she remembered now. She looked back at her little clutch, then her eyes moved up at Javier lying just beyond, still unconscious. She whipped back to stare at the doorway. It was empty.

 _Great,_ she thought. _Another fucking hallucination._ "Well at least you're being helpful this time," she commented aloud, resignedly.

She made a pouch of her denim jacket, gathered up her clutch, and took them outside in search of a deep puddle. The required test quickly revealed three floaters, which she snatched up and threw away as hard as she could, and three sinkers, which she brought back inside and laid on the ground. "Now if only we had a fire – and a frying pan."

Glancing up just then, she gasped in surprise. Javi's eyes were open at last, watching her. She knelt next to his side, cupping his face in her hands. "Hey!"

He didn't reply, didn't react for a moment, and she felt a pang of fear. Then he murmured, so softly she barely heard him, _"...dreaming..."_

"Well, if you are, I wish to god you'd wake up. I'm tired of this shitshow."

He blinked. Apparently that's not what his dream girl would say. His un-stomped-on right hand moved jerkily, raising up to touch her shoulder, then her hair. _"Not dreaming."_ The corners of his mouth twitched in an incipient wondering smile. _"You found me."_

"Yes," was all she could say.

Then his eyes slid to the cheek he was touching and he gently moved her head to the other side, revealing the bruise spreading there from Tomás' first slap. His own face crumpled. _"_... _no..."_

Letty shook her head, reaching for his hand with hers to pull it down and hold it gently. "It doesn't matter," she assured him, and it really didn't. "You want some water?" He stared, stricken, for another moment, then nodded, and she reached for one of the bottles now filled from the dripping rain. She slipped one arm behind his head to lift it gently and helped him drink.

As she carefully lowered his head again, his face twisted in a wave of pain from his wounds and his eyes threatened to close, so she patted his cheeks and spoke quickly. "No! Javi, stay awake. Stay with me, babe. You need to eat something."

His brows furrowed – apparently he remembered where they were. _"What?"_ was all he said.

She picked up one of the proven fresh eggs to show him, and kept talking to keep him engaged. "This. This is going to be _disgusting..._ but it's all we've got. And it's packed with protein." Picking up the large nail she'd found outside, she carefully drilled a hole with it in the large end of the egg. She poked the nail far inside and wiggled it around to scramble the insides. "Mom taught me to do this when I was little. Of course, we were dying the shells for Easter." Pulling the nail back out, she put a finger over the hole and reversed the egg, then drilled another hole in the other end.

It wasn't till she leaned over Javier, saying "Open up!" that he realized what she was up to. He grimaced, but obediently opened his mouth, and she held the egg over it, blowing through the top hole to force the scrambled raw egg through the other end and into his mouth. The look on his face as he swallowed nearly made her laugh.

"OK, hold on. You need another one." Tossing the empty shell aside, Letty picked up the next egg, but Javier shook his head.

" _...You..."_ He stopped, breathless, but that was enough.

She picked up the last egg to show him both. "We have three. I'll have one, I promise, but you need two. You're bigger than I am." Not taking no for an answer, she quickly prepared the second egg and fed it to him, then held the water bottle again so he could wash the raw egg down. She scrambled and sucked out the third egg as fast as she could, washing it down with water from a second bottle. "Yuck!" she shuddered, tossing the empty shell aside with disgust, then turned back to share a commiserating grimace with her lover.

She couldn't put it off any longer. "Javi..." She choked, unable to go on for a moment. "I'm gonna have to go find some help. I can't do this by myself..."

Javi nodded. _"...I know..."_ he whispered.

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

" _...Mexico?... Maybe?..."_ Then a thought hit him, and he made an effort. _"The garbage out there... are the labels... in Spanish or English?"_

Letty turned on her heel and peered out, then got up and poked her head out the opening to make sure before coming back to kneel again by his side. "They're all Spanish."

" _Mexico then."_

This frightened her even more. "I can't... What do I do? I don't speak Spanish!" But another look at his bloody wounds made her push her fears aside. "I'll figure it out. I'll find someone!" A breath. "I will!"

He reached again for her hand. _"Letty... find a priest."_

That threw her. "What, for last rites? You're not..." but he was shaking his head.

" _...No... Listen..."_ His voiceless whispers were getting more labored as he struggled for breath. _"Mexico... Tomás... drug cartel..."_ She nodded understanding. _"Priest... most likely... to help someone... against cartel..."_

"OK."

" _Priest or doctor... no cops, no army... no uniform..."_ a head shake _"wrong side..."_

"I got it," she told him, putting a finger on his lips to stop his struggling to speak. "I'll find a priest. First time for everything," she added ironically, but it flew past Javier. His eyelids were getting heavy again, and watching them trying to close frightened her. "Now you listen to me, Mister Pereira, you son of a bitch," she nearly hissed, shaking his shoulders very gently, but it got his attention again. "You _stay alive_ till I get back. You hear me?"

This time his mouth definitely smiled, albeit faintly. _"Si, Señora."_ Then his look softened even more. _"Letty... I love you."_

 _Oh, now THIS is a hell of a time for THAT first!_ But all she said aloud was "I love you too." She leaned over to kiss him tenderly, trying to will life into him through their lips.

As she gathered herself up, she heard him whisper one more time. _"Do me a favor..."_

"What?"

He was drifting off, but he managed to answer. _"Send that plate... back to the kitchen... eggs are underdone..."_ He even managed a tiny smirk.

"You bet," she replied through her tears. "I'll tell them the world's best chef said so." He was unconscious again, but his slight smile lingered.

.

.

She stood outside for a moment to pull herself together, wiping tears off her face. Then she took a cautious barefoot step forward – and stopped again abruptly, as the damn chicken came strutting back past her. It gave her a beady stare, then sashayed back into the coop, over to Javi as Letty turned to watch, and settled down near the crook of his arm.

"OK," Letty finally said. "You watch him." The hen clucked back at her, and turned away.

Shaking her head, Letty began her long walk.

Watching every step – she _really_ wasn't used to walking barefoot – she made her way carefully back to the smaller track, then along it to the main dirt-and-gravel road. There she stopped. Which way to go? Thinking hard, she remembered she had been pushed out of the car – the right, passenger side – on this side of the road, then Tomás had spun the car around to go back to her left. So whatever passed for civilization around here _should_ be in that direction, as well. She turned and went that way, keeping to the dirt shoulder.

Focusing for the first time on the larger surroundings, she discovered the dump was scattered amid small hills in a long valley between larger ridges. The road she followed meandered along near the base of one of those ridges. She was surprised to see greenery everywhere – tall grass, shrubs, even trees dotting the slopes. Then she shook her head ruefully at herself. "The whole damn country isn't a desert, you know."

Rounding one mound, she glanced left and spotted a small cracked plastic laundry basket half-filled with packages of some sort. She detoured to see, and discovered half a dozen brand new bed sheets, still in their plastic wrapping. A split garbage bag nearby spilled out ragged clothes. Here was some camouflage! She found a light blue blouse only a little too big, and pulled it on before replacing the denim jacket over it, then tore an ugly printed skirt into a large square to make a bandana to cover her hair. Poking through the clothes, she found a few more items of both sexes that looked about the right sizes and added them to the sheets in the basket. Then she picked up the basket and began carrying it along. Now if only she could find some shoes!

The dump ended, naturally, at the mouth of the valley, where the roadway made an abrupt turn around the shoulder of the ridge before diving down a long slope. Letty stopped involuntarily, gasping. The view was simply gorgeous – rolling green hills dotted with farms and trees, and three or four tiny villages tucked into folds. Including one nearly at her feet, two or three miles distant. That was better. The whitewashed walls cheered her up immediately – as did the distinctive bell tower of a tiny church.

As she trudged between the first houses an hour later, now covered in dust and sweat and feeling as bedraggled as the chicken, she kept her head down and her shoulders slumped. Let anyone who saw her see only a poor ragpicker on her way home from raiding the dump.

She nearly had a heart attack when a car passed her – and slowed down for a look. A darting glance revealed the word _Policia_ on the side. Not the good guys, she reminded herself – not that they ever had been, to her. But she kept her head down, trudging along – and after a moment, the car sped off and she breathed again. She was vaguely aware of one or two other people walking along the streets, but mostly the town was eerily quiet.

A cool shadow across her neck made her glance up – it was the bell tower of the church, much smaller than it had appeared from above. But then the whole town was smaller, no more than fifty or so houses. _Iglesia de Santa Maria de Mercedes_ was carved directly into the plaster above the open front door. She took the invitation and slipped into the cool dark church.

She set the basket down to one side of the door, and stood a moment peering inward, letting her eyes adjust from the glare outside. The church was empty, no one and no sound. She glanced apologetically at the tiny water fount beside the door, but she had no idea what to do. She'd never even set foot in a Catholic church before.

"Hello?" she called softly, changing it a moment later to the remembered Spanish "Hóla?" No answer to either. So she walked slowly down the little central aisle towards the altar. With no idea what to do or where to look, she stepped aside into the first row and sat on the hard wooden pew. Then a wave of desolation and exhaustion swamped her, and she slipped forward onto her knees on the low bench for that purpose, folded her arms on the rail in front, put her head on her arms, and sobbed.

"Please help me," she whispered, though she couldn't have said to whom. "Please..."

A hand laid gently on her shoulder startled her, and she jerked her head up to stare at the hand's owner standing there – a thirty-something man dressed all in black, with the backwards collar even she recognized – she had found the priest, or rather, he had found her.

"Please..." she resumed begging, slightly louder. "Please help me."

"Señora?" came his confused reply.

"You don't speak English, do you?" He shook his head no, sorrow and concern creasing his forehead. So she dragged out the few words of Spanish that she knew. "Por favor... mi esposo..." That was the word for "husband", wasn't it? She mimed a ring on her finger and he nodded. "He is hurt... he was shot..." She mimed a gun with her hand, and "shot" herself in the stomach, then threw the hand wide, "up there in the hills..."

The shock on his face was evident, and he let loose a slew of Spanish. She caught only a single word, "policia" and pounced, shaking her head hard. "NO! No police – policia. No. Por favor." How to explain? "Drug cartel.. cartel?" No comprehension. She mimed a syringe, shooting in her arm – that he understood, then the word cartel. "Police... might be working with the cartel.. Policia con el cartel?"

The priest took a step back at that, taking a deep breath, then looked at her and nodded understanding, before shrugging his shoulders to say he didn't know if the police could be trusted either.

Letty held her hands together as if in prayer, then stretched them towards the priest beseechingly. She was still on her knees. "Please... help me. Get my husband – mi esposo – to a doctor. Doctor?" He nodded again – that word was the same. He looked around, worried, indecisive, then back into Letty's eyes, sighed, and nodded. She clapped one hand over her mouth to keep from crying out as she lost it. After a moment, she managed to open her eyes again, looked at him and choked out, "Thank you. Gracias."

The priest placed a hand on his chest, introducing himself. "Padre Miguel Carmillo." At his gesture, she gave her name.

"Letty. Letty Pereira." She couldn't have said why she gave Javier's last name as hers, but her perfect pronunciation of it seemed to smooth things with Padre Miguel.

But... "Usted no es católica," he observed rather than asked. She didn't know what had given her away, but she shook her head no, she wasn't Catholic. "Norteamericana?" She nodded.

He courteously motioned her to rise and follow him, leading her to the side door behind the altar, which, it turned out, led directly into his tiny living quarters. He asked her to sit on one of the two chairs at his table, and turned to the little stove to dish out some food. Letty tried to protest; she didn't mean to intrude, but he waved it off good-naturedly. Apparently unexpected guests were a regular occurrence – as long as they weren't picky, they were welcome. Picking up a plate, he took the lid off one large pot and fished out several small boiled potatoes. Smashing them briefly down with a fork, he then scooped some cooked greens and bits of chopped ham out of the second pot and spread them over the potatoes, adding a spoonful of the cooking liquid as well. Then he repeated the process with a second plate, put both on the table and sat down. Letty remembered to wait for him to say a quick grace before she picked up her fork and started eating.

It was the most delicious meal she had ever eaten.

They ate in a comfortable silence; Letty too famished for talk, while Padre Miguel was preoccupied with the problem that had just landed in his lap. When both plates were empty (Letty just barely keeping herself from licking hers clean), he got up to quickly rinse them, waving away her offer to help. Afterwards, he stood staring out the tiny window above his sink for a few minutes, before seeming to come to a decision. He turned back to Letty and motioned her to stay where she was, "por favor." Another sentence she didn't understand, but then he repeated "carro", miming a steering wheel with his hands. He was going to get a car. Letty nodded comprehension. He hesitated, then said, "una hora," holding up one finger then pointing to his bare wrist. She got it. "One hour? OK."

Padre Miguel smiled, nodded, then picked up a nondescript hat and walked out the door.

.

.

Javier woke up suddenly, violently, his eyes flying open as he gasped for breath – the gasp cut short by a knife-sharp, excruciating pain below his lungs. He couldn't breathe. His good hand clawed at his chest, certain he'd find the handle of a knife sticking out – but all he felt was a bandage. Then he remembered he'd taken a bullet just there, and guessed instantly that the bullet was still inside, wreaking painful havoc.

He had to breathe. He had to relax, somehow – the pain was causing his diaphragm to clench hard, and he couldn't move it to get air into his lungs. He screwed his eyes tightly shut and concentrated as hard as he could, just trying to get the muscle to work. He could hear hoarse gasping sounds, and realized they were coming from his own mouth. So he switched his concentration to that, listening to his own breathing, and tried to make it louder by moving his chest instead of belly. Slowly, so slowly, it worked, the gasps coming ever so slightly longer and farther apart. He felt for the air traveling through his open mouth and throat, welcoming the stench of the garbage because it meant oxygen was reaching his lungs.

When the sounds faded, he realized it had worked, and he was breathing nearly normally again – or at least, as he had been before, still rapid and shallow, because the pain came stabbing back if he tried to breathe more deeply. But he was slowly able to relax the rest of his body as the panic dribbled away.

Opening his eyes once more, he looked around the ruined coop, remembering it all. He had no idea how long Letty had been gone. But looking down, he found the bottle of water she had left near his right hand, and managed to pick it up, bring it to his head, and tip some water into his mouth.

Thinking of Letty brought more pain, emotional this time, as he remembered the ugly bruise forming on his beloved's cheek. God only knew what she'd gone through to find him. He found himself wishing he still believed in the Catholicism of his youth, so he could pray to the Virgin to protect her. But that was long gone. Instead, he found himself whispering, "Angels of lost souls... protect and guide her... keep her safe..." As a new round of pain welled up from his various wounds, he added, "Hurry, baby. Please hurry..."

.

.

It was more like two hours before Padre Miguel returned, the shadows lengthening toward mid-afternoon. Letty had crept back into the church and fetched her basket some time before, putting it near the door he had departed by. She sorted through her found clothes again, folding them neatly and stacking them back in the basket. And then, nothing else to do, she had simply sat at the small table and stared out the open back door into his tiny herb garden.

A shadow falling across that doorway startled her out of her stupor, but it was only Padre Miguel. He smiled, said something with an apologetic air, and motioned her to come outside. He closed and locked his door behind her this time, courteously took the basket she'd picked up, and escorted her around to the side of the church.

A very old beaten-up four-door sedan waited there, idling. It once might have been blue. There was another man sitting behind the wheel, eyeing her suspiciously over his bushy mustache. Padre Miguel ignored the driver, opening the rear passenger side door for Letty, then handing her the basket before closing that door and slipping into the front seat. He said something to the driver, then turned to Letty, giving her the driver's name, Pablo. He then asked a question, which she didn't understand, so he repeated it more slowly. "Dondé está su esposo?" Where was her husband? She looked around, getting her bearings, and pointed the way she had come, wishing she knew the words for dump, or garbage.

Pablo backed the car out into the street, turned it as it protested squeakily, then rattled off. Padre Miguel turned frequently to check with Letty that they were heading the right way as the car wheezed up the slope. Letty prayed it would live long enough. When they turned the corner into the dump, she sat forward, asking them to slow down. She almost missed the smaller track, but got them turned onto it. Fifty yards further on, she spied the coop and cried for them to stop, pointing to it. Jumping out almost before it stopped rolling, she ran on tender feet to the shelter and dashed inside, startling the chicken which squawked and fluttered.

Javier hadn't moved, and for a moment his white face scared her, but she dropped her head onto his chest once more to hear his heartbeat. "Santa María!" rasped behind her, and she turned to see Pablo looming in the doorway, staring at the blood on Javi's clothes. Padre Miguel, behind him, was crossing himself.

"He's still alive!" she cried. "Help me get him to a doctor!"

Padre Miguel moved first, coming up to kneel beside Javi, shooing away the hen and laying fingers on his neck to check his pulse. He rattled off to Pablo, who at last came in as well, making to pick up Javi by the shoulders. Padre Miguel took the middle, and Letty clutched at Javi's feet. Somehow – he was heavier than she had thought, and his limp weight reminded her of dragging Teo – _NEVER MIND!_ she told herself firmly. Somehow, they got him to the car and stretched him across the cracking back seat, Letty slipping in to hold his head and shoulders in her lap.

She glanced out the still-open door and called Padre Miguel to stop before he closed it. The stupid chicken had followed them out to the car. "You want to come too?" Letty asked it, and the hen clucked back.

Padre Miguel looked at her questioningly, but she just shrugged, rueful. So he laughed, bent down swiftly and caught the chicken (he'd obviously had practice), bumped her door closed with one hip, and got into the front seat, putting the bird between him and Pablo.

The car wheezed around and back to the main road, turning right, away from the little town.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

A few minutes after the journey began, Letty noticed a stickiness under her elbow, looked down and blanched. Javier's belly wound had begun bleeding again – so had the other two. "Oh my god," she breathed. She tried to reach her laundry basket, which had been put on the floorboard by the other door, but couldn't get close.

Padre Miguel noticed her movement and turned around. "Señora?" She showed him the blood, then somehow, with "no" and pointing, she got him to pull out one of the new, still-packaged sheets, and then mimed tearing it into strips. He suddenly twigged, opened the package and ripped off several strips with the help of a pocket knife Pablo handed him. Then he had Pablo stop the car while he got out, came back, and helped Letty put new bandages right over the old ones – pads from long folded strips held in place with more strips tied around Javier. They wouldn't last forever, or really stop the bleeding, probably, but they'd at least get him to the doctor – she hoped.

A more severe jolt than most, complete with Pablo swearing and yanking the steering wheel, brought Javier around with a grunt and a moan. His eyes flew open and he looked around wildly before lighting on her face. "Javi!" she cried quickly. "It's OK! I found help – we're taking you to the doctor." He nodded comprehension then, closing his eyes again and panting shallowly as ever, pain etched deep on his face.

Javier was hating himself for acting like such a big baby, but the pain was unimaginable. He'd long before lost the hard-won localization of it, and felt like every nerve in his body was screaming at top volume, but he couldn't muster the concentration to try to relocalize the pain with the car jolting and bouncing around on the rough road.

He was leaning on Letty, her arms around his torso trying to hold him steady, his head near her shoulder. His knees had been bent to get his long frame into the short back seat. He managed to plant his good left foot on the far door and shove himself up an inch, then twisted a bit so he could put his forehead into the curve of her neck, like a young boy hiding from the world. Then he did his best just to concentrate on that point, those few square inches, the warmth of her skin on his.

Letty felt him move and tightened her arms around him again. A moment later, she was aware that his good right hand had come up and found her arm and was clutching it. She wanted to move that arm and take his hand in hers, but needed both arms to hold him steady, so she settled for shifting her face to the side to rest her cheek on his hair.

Her mind flew back eleven years to the only other time she had felt anything like this, literally holding someone's life in her arms. Her labor had been blessedly short – too short for her Mom to make the journey to the Women's Correctional Institute where she was incarcerated. So the nurse had given in to Letty's pleas and allowed her to hold her newborn son until Mom arrived. She'd even been able to give him his first meal, two tiny ounces of newborn formula from an Evenflo bottle.

When Mom finally walked in, all Letty could do was look at her, tears rolling down her contorted face, unable to say a word. She wanted to see what Estelle would do and say when she saw the baby's dark skin. Estelle took in the whole picture, then said only, "It _was_ Sean, then." Letty nodded.

Estelle perched on the side of the bed, not reaching for the baby yet. "What's his name?" she asked her daughter gently. Letty was surprised. She hadn't given it any thought. Looking down at the infant, though, a name came to her and she whispered it. "Jacob." She'd never known anyone with that name, but she had always liked it. It sounded... strong. And hopeful. Her poor, hapless son would need both.

Then she looked back at Mom. "You choose his middle name."

Estelle thought a moment, then, "Michael." Letty nodded. That was a good name.

"I'll take good care of him," Estelle told Letty through her own tears. "Like he was my own."

"I know you will." That wasn't the issue. "I hope he's better – easier – than I was."

The nurse cleared her throat. It was time. Somehow Letty managed to lean over and kiss her son on the forehead, then held him out to Estelle. The instant he was out of her arms they felt icy cold and abandoned. "Letty..." Estelle began, but that was all Letty could take. She looked away and waved her Mom away, please just go now, and never heard the door for her own wild sobs.

She didn't see Jacob again for four and a half years, and the shitshow that visit began was so bad that Estelle had finally taken out the restraining order against her.

Now here she was, bouncing along in a rusty old car in the late afternoon, somewhere in Mexico, holding another life in her arms, a life somehow infinitely precious to her. How had that happened? How had he come to mean so much? Why did she care about this guy, this hit man, this killer?

She didn't know.

Slowly, as they maneuvered around potholes, an answer came from somewhere. Because he cared about her. Because he had seen her as she really was: damaged, broken, untrustworthy, wild – and stuck around. Even kept coming back whenever she pushed him roughly away. He kept trying to help her, just wanted to take care of her.

(So did Christian, a small voice said in her ear. And she did care for Christian – as a friend. She didn't feel about him the way she did about Javier. She certainly didn't want to fuck him. Every minute.)

But why, she wondered, bewildered as always. Why did Javier stick around? Was it because he was the same? Damaged, broken – she thought of his monster father, Oscar, and then of his profession and his confessed numbness to it. He was damaged, too, all right. Maybe that was why they fit together.

It wasn't a good answer, but it was the best she could do at the time.

What she _did_ know, though, was that the fierce determination to survive that had carried her through nearly her entire life, which she had slowly, painfully recovered there in Tomás' makeshift holding cell, had been transferred wholly onto his curly head. This precious life she held in her arms would not be snuffed out at some two-bit drug dealer's whim.

She felt him stir beneath her cheek. _"_... _Letty?..."_ came his voiceless whisper.

"I'm here, babe. I'm right here."

".. _.knew you could do it... my magician..."_

There it was again. He _trusted_ her. He _believed_ in her, when not one single other person in the entire goddamn world ever had. She took a breath, then replied with her habitual sarcasm. "Stop talking nonsense." She felt his cheek muscles move against her chest, and knew he was smiling – or grimacing, one. "Just hold on, baby. We'll be there soon," she told him, praying it was true.

.

.

It was. Not ten minutes later the car was approaching a town, a few thousand people larger than the three or four tiny villages they had coughed and sputtered through on the way. Padre Miguel directed Pablo down side streets until they came to a two-story building set slightly apart from its neighbors, and pulled into the driveway beside it. The Padre turned to Letty and made "stay put" motions, and she nodded. She watched him get out of the car and walk to a side door in the slanting orange-tinted light – the sun was setting.

A minute later, someone answered his soft knock: a professional-looking man, perhaps middle-aged, dressed in casual slacks and shirt. He grinned at his visitor in surprise and the two men shared a warm, affectionate hug, then at the stranger's evident question, the Padre turned serious. He gestured towards the car several feet away – a bit too far for Letty to hear what was said – and gave a short explanation. The stranger was startled, throwing the Padre a concerned look, then strode rapidly to the car. The door at Javi's feet was opened, and the stranger raked him in a long look, taking in the various bandages. Javi didn't stir, even when the car's engine shut off – apparently he had passed out again.

"Madre de Diós!" the stranger exclaimed, earning him an evident reprimand from the Padre which he shook off. He turned to the priest with an accusing question – Letty made out the word "hospital". Padre Miguel shook his head, pointing at Letty, and she heard "Señora" and "cartel" - which word made the stranger rear back in concern. He again raked both Letty and Javier, then reached in to pick up Javi's arms to peer at the insides of his elbows. Letty stiffened, but straightened out her own arms as best she could to show him the lack of needle tracks. He hooked an eyebrow at her for knowing what he was looking for, and she almost told him off, but stopped herself – if this was the doctor, Javier's life might depend on her staying on his good side.

Finally he sighed and nodded, resigned. "Bueno." A gesture brought Pablo and Padre Miguel in close, and the three men wrestled Javier out of the back seat as gently as they could, Letty holding his head until Pablo could take it along with his shoulders. Then she scooted across the seat, got out of the car, reached back in for her laundry basket prize, and followed the men in through the open door.

The first long, narrow room was mostly stairway running up to the next floor, with entryway shelves and coat hooks on the other hand, then another door into the rest of the ground floor. Letty set her basket down in the outer room by the shoes then went on through, finding a large, cluttered examination room, with a modern-looking exam table in the center surrounded by an eclectic collection of medical devices both new and old – mostly old. A desk and bookshelves in the corner made a bit of office, with numerous chairs, cabinets, rolling stands, and counters here and there.

The three men were settling Javier onto the exam table and raising the bars on the sides. Then with a few more words, Padre Miguel and the doctor were solemnly shaking hands, and the two men who had brought them here were turning back towards the door. They stopped before Letty, the priest giving her a sorrowful look. He was sorry, he seemed to be saying, but they had to get back to their village. Then he took both hands in his and gave her a warm smile. "Entiendo que usted no es católico," he said, "pero..." and he sketched the sign of the cross in the air between them.

She took it in the spirit in which it was intended, and nodded. "Thank you, Padre," she said quietly, before amending it to "Gracias." She was devastated they were leaving, but there was nothing she could do to stop them. She turned to watch them walk back to the car, then called out, "Padre!" When he turned back, she grimaced ironically, then said, "Keep the chicken." At his look of incomprehension, she dug up the word she needed from Mexican restaurant menus. "El pollo," and made a "giving" motion.

That made him laugh, and he looked ten years younger. "Gracias, Señora," came the reply, then he added sincerely, "Buena suerte." Good luck. The two men got into the car, Padre Miguel picking up the hen (which had miraculously stayed put) to show Letty before settling it into his lap, then they backed out of the drive, turned, and drove off.

.

.

Letty returned to the exam room, closing and locking the doors behind her as seemed prudent. The doctor was doing the usual pulse and blood pressure check, using an ancient-looking BP cuff with a rubber bulb pump. She stood and watched as he nodded, murmuring "bueno," then pulled a small oxygen tank over and set it below the head of the exam table. A minute later and Javi had oxygen flowing through his nose from the clear tube running across his face. The doctor then pulled over a rolling IV stand. He went to a cabinet and pulled out a clear bag of fluid, quickly cleaned a spot on Javi's elbow with an alcohol prep pad, and started the IV. Letty walked closer at that point. "No blood supply?" she asked shakily.

He looked up at her and shook his head, not understanding. She pointed to the blood on Javi's chest. "Blood?" then at the clear IV, and he caught on quickly.

"No," he said apologetically, "no lo tengo." Then, quizzically, "No habla Español?"

"No. No habla Inglés?" Where all these single Spanish words and phrases were coming from, she didn't know, but she was grateful. She must have picked up more bits of the language over the years than she had realized. She thought a moment, but couldn't come up with the next words she wanted, so she fell back on giving him her name and Javier's. It wasn't until much later that she realized she'd continued calling herself "Letty Pereira".

But it had the desired effect. "Doctor Alejandro Morales," came the reply. Looking at him in the brighter indoor light, she felt a bit easier. The doctor was in his late fifties, clean-shaven, greying at the temples, and had a smooth, confident, professional manner, even in the face of this most unexpected medical situation. He wasn't what she would have called handsome – she would have put him firmly in the "average-looking" box – but his eyes were bright, intelligent, and kind; missing nothing, and judging nothing.

He had turned and was now wrestling an odd contraption on wheels out of its corner. Letty, startled, realized it was some sort of small, portable x-ray machine. He brought it over to Javier's side, plugged it in, opened the laptop attached to it and started it booting up. Catching Letty's puzzled look, he patted the side of the machine proudly, saying "Médicos Sin Fronteras!"

"Doctors Without Borders? They gave that to you?" Letty translated. When he nodded, she made a rueful face. "Well, I guess I'll give them whatever I can from now on."

He grinned again, apparently understanding the sentiment if not the words, then took a square plate from the side, a coiled cable attaching the plate to the machine. He turned to Letty, "Señora, por favor," and handed her the plate over Javier's head as she stepped to the opposite side of the exam table. Somehow the doctor conveyed the maneuver, then he carefully lifted Javier's head and shoulders a couple of inches to let her slide the plate behind his wounded shoulder.

By that time the laptop had done its thing and was waiting. The doctor moved the cone over Javi's shoulder, placed it an inch over the center of the still-covered wound, then motioned her back a few feet while he tapped on the keyboard. The familiar zap sounded, and he waited a few seconds for the image to appear on the screen. "Bueno," was the verdict. Letty then repositioned the plate for pictures of Javier's abdomen and thigh – two shots at angles for that one. Then, "his hand?" she asked, pointing across to Javi's ruined left hand.

"Aiee!" Doctor Morales exclaimed. He hadn't noticed that wound in his concern for the gunshots. "Gracias." And he spread the hand gently on the plate and quickly snapped a shot of it.

Replacing the plate in its holster, he tapped on the keyboard to recall the shots. Letty walked around the table to stand at his shoulder, holding her breath. How bad was it?

As she suspected, he was looking at the one of Javi's abdomen first, peering closely at the screen and tapping on the touchscreen to enlarge parts of the picture. He took a deep breath, then gave a long low whistle. "Santa María!" he breathed. "Es un milagro!"

Letty didn't know that word. "What?" she nearly cried. "What is it?"

But the look he turned on her contained a wondering smile. "Mira." He pointed to the small dark shape in the center of the screen, which Letty assumed was the bullet still in his belly. "La bala no está en sus pulmones." Realizing instantly she didn't understand, he gestured towards his chest while taking a huge, obvious breath. Lungs. "Y no en el intestino." The hand moved further down over his gut. "Está solo en el diafragma, el músculo de los pulmones!" Musculo was easy – muscle.

"It's in the diaphragm?" He nodded. "Can you get it out?" She made a plucking motion with her fingers at the bullet on the screen, and he nodded again. "And he'll be OK?" she whispered, not daring her voice.

The doctor smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sí. Tu esposo estará bien," he said slowly, with emphasis.

But it wasn't just the one wound. "What about the others?" she asked, pointing to his shoulder and then thigh.

The doctor quickly clicked up another picture, of the shoulder wound. He looked closely at it, blowing it up, then nodded. "Bueno." He glanced at Letty and waved his hand at the screen. "No problemo." The thigh, though, seemed a bit worse. Doctor Morales looked at the two angled pictures for almost a minute, clicking back and forth, then slowly nodded his head. "OK. Yo puedo hacer eso." He nodded at Letty.

Then he called up the hand and looked closely at it, worry creasing his brow. Then slowly he gave another whistle. "Es un otro milagro." He pointed to the screen. "Los huesos..." Letty shook her head, not comprehending, so he blew up the image and pointed directly at the long thin bones, and she nodded. Then he made a motion with his two hands as if snapping a twig between them, adding horrible sound effects with his tongue – but then waved his hand and shook his head. "No están rotos!"

Letty gasped. "No broken bones? Only tissue damage?" He nodded, apparently guessing at her words. "He'll be OK?" she repeated.

"Sí," was the gentle reply, and she put her face in her hands and began to cry.

He put his hand back on her shoulder and let her go for a moment, then said gently, "Pero, Señora..."

She got herself under control at that and looked back into his kind face.

"Necesito tu ayuda."

That word she knew. "My help?" Letty stepped back involuntarily, a little horrified. _Me? An operating room nurse?_ "Why? Why me?"

The doctor spread his hands, palms up, and looked ostentatiously around the room. "Nadie más está aquí!" Motioning back and forth between himself and Letty, he added, "Solo nosotros." He stepped towards her, putting both hands on her shoulders, and looked at her pleadingly. "Señora Pereira. Necesito _tu_ ayuda. Por favor." He hesitated, then added, "Por Javier."

Letty buried her face in her hands again for a moment, then took a deep breath and dropped them again. "OK," she replied, resigned and a little – no, a _lot_ – nervous. "What do I do?"

.

.

While the doctor found a couple of exam robes for them, the kind patients wore, Letty went back to her basket once more and fished out the remains of the torn sheet, tearing another large square to make a new, cleaner bandana for her hair. He nodded approvingly, then they tied the robes behind each other's backs. He then led her to the sink, and they scrubbed their hands up to the elbows – Letty also taking the opportunity to wash her face for the first time in days – before donning rubber gloves and cloth masks that hooked over their ears. That was all the protective clothing he had.

Then they went back to Javier. The doctor handed her a pair of scissors and motioned cutting away the newer bandages and the remains of his t-shirt, making circles around the wounds where it had gotten stuck with blood. As she followed those instructions, he opened the door to what looked like a tiny oven and pulled out a cloth bundle, unrolling it onto a rolling tray to reveal a number of simple surgical instruments. Then he put another rolling tray near Letty, and piled it with sponges and bandages and several clear plastic squirt bottles labeled Sterile Saline in English and Spanish. Finally, he kicked a waste basket under her tray near her feet, and they were ready.

What followed was one of the most surreal hours of Letty's life. They used the saline to soak the old bandages and t-shirt circles until they could ease them off, then Letty used sponges to clean up and wipe away blood, new and old, while Doctor Morales carefully probed the wound, then inserted long skinny forceps, got a hold on the bullet, and slowly maneuvered it out. The one from Javier's shoulder, where they started, came out with difficulty, but it did come out after a few very long minutes. Another small rush of blood followed, but the doctor put a new bandage on the hole to absorb it, holding it in place with pressure from the heel of his hand for a few minutes before tying it down around his shoulder temporarily. He would come back to finish and close the wound later, he said, and they moved down to Javier's stomach.

This one was going to be more tricky, as Javier continued to breathe, moving chest, muscle, and bullet with each rapid, shallow intake and exhale. But they did the best they could, soaking off the old bandage, cleaning the skin, and then starting to probe for the bullet.

And then Javier woke up.

His eyes flew open, and he took in the masked faces looming over him with a strangled gasp, flailing his arms and nearly coming up off the exam table in panic. Doctor Morales ripped off his mask, then tried to hold Javier down with his hands on both shoulders, nearly shouting, "Javier! Soy un doctor! Cálmese!"

Javier was having none of it, till Letty pulled down her mask, too, grabbed at his flinging wrists, and got his attention. "Javi! It's all right! You're in a clinic, he's a doctor! We're getting the bullets out!"

The second he saw her face and heard her voice, Javier stopped and focused on them, then sank back as comprehension hit, nearly passing out in relief and renewed pain combined. As his muscles relaxed, his medics did, too. Doctor Morales quickly checked the IV – miraculously, Javi hadn't pulled it out – and replaced that arm on the table gently. Then he asked Javi something in Spanish that Letty didn't catch. Javi opened his eyes to look at the doctor, then nodded, and Morales turned away to a locked cabinet. He rummaged quickly through it and the drawer beneath, then returned with a small bottle and a syringe, filled the needle with dispatch, and slipped the shot into Javi's arm. Letty watched anxiously as whatever it was took effect, Javier's eyes sinking rapidly closed as he relaxed all over, his panicked breath slowing again.

"What was that?" she asked, and he showed her the bottle. Morfina. Morphine. Letty didn't know what to think of that. Javier had _never_ taken any drugs in his life. But he'd agreed to this. She bit her lips, the immensity of the pain he was feeling just now dawning.

After a few more minutes, the doctor watching Javier closely to make sure he was tolerating the morphine well, but would stay under, they went back to work.

.

.

At last it was over; two bullets removed, four wounds (two in the thigh) cleaned and taped closed, and clean sterile bandages applied. Doctor Morales used a hypodermic to drain some fluid from several spots in Javi's stomped left hand, then wrapped it loosely with cold packs to try to lessen the swelling, leaving it propped up and elevated beside the still-unconscious patient.

The two surgeons then puttered about, cleaning up the theater, collecting all the sponges, dirty bandages, and ruined clothes (Javier's trousers had had to be sacrificed, as well) into the trash and double-bagging it. Doctor Morales carefully scrubbed his instruments clean, then wrapped them up and put them back into the "oven", turning it on – Letty guessed then it was a sterilizer of some sort. Finally, he used bleach water in a spray bottle to clean the table around Javier's sleeping body, and the floor next to it. Letty looked away, trying not to remember cleaning up "her" beach house.

At last, Letty and the doctor took off their masks, gloves, and robes, dropping them all into another trash bag and tying it off. Then he led her over to his desk and they sat down in a pair of chairs, facing each other. Both were utterly exhausted from the ordeal.

Doctor Morales reached over and opened a lower desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of whiskey. He offered it to Letty, and she took it, shaking slightly, unscrewed the top, and took one deep, heavenly sniff. Something about the way she did it caught his attention, and he asked, gently, "Alcohólica?"

No need to translate that. Letty nodded. "But I – _really_ – need this." And with that she tipped the bottle back and took a hefty swig, savoring it and then swallowing. And then another. Then she screwed the cap back on and handed it back to him, waved both her hands before her and said firmly, _"Nada más!"_ He nodded understanding, took a couple of swallows himself, then put the bottle away, shutting the drawer firmly.

The bruise on her cheek caught his attention again, and he leaned forward, motioning her to do the same. He turned her head and examined the bruise, then mimed a slapping hand with a questioning look, and she nodded. "Hmm," was all he said. "No Javier." It was not a guess, but she shook her head anyway. "Más?" he asked, spreading his hands. She pulled up her jacket and blouse, showing him the bruises on her side, then allowed as how they were a bit more extensive, miming both slaps and punches.

But then she shook her head. "It's OK. Es nada." And she firmly pulled her clothes straight again.

"OK," he said after a moment.

"I could use some aspirin, though," she realized. He didn't get that, so she mimed a headache, then made as though popping something in her mouth, and he grinned.

"Aspirina," he corrected her.

"Of course," she said ruefully. He stood up and got her a couple of pills, bringing back a full glass of water, too. She downed the whole thing in a gulp. "Gracias."

He looked at her directly. "Gracias a _usted_ ," he replied gravely, with emphasis. "Por tu ayuda, por Javier."

"He'll be OK?" she desperately wanted more reassurance, and he gave it to her with a nod and a warm smile. Then he stood again and examined Javier one more time, checking pulse, breathing, pupils, even blood pressure.

He went into a small storage room for a moment, returning with a pillow and a couple of blankets, one of which he draped over Javier. The rest he put onto a slightly shabby love seat on one side of the room. "Señora?" he called. Letting her know that he lived just upstairs, and would hear if she called out for any reason, he smiled again, wished her good night, and turned to go upstairs – pointing out the small bathroom as he went by.

Letty stood by Javier's side for a moment longer, just listening to his breathing; slower, deeper, and less tortured-seeming than before. She reached with tender fingers, brushing his hair back, then leaned over and kissed his forehead.

Then she clicked off most of the lights, curled up on the loveseat under the blanket, and immediately fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Letty surfaced gradually the next morning to find two things: she was stiff as a board from the tiny loveseat, and Doctor Morales was checking briefly on Javier. Light peeking through curtained side windows showed the morning had begun, if barely. She pushed herself up to a sit, moaning softly, and suddenly realized how utterly filthy she was. How long had it been since she had been clean? Not since LA.

Padding lightly over to her laundry basket, she sorted through the salvaged clothes and came up with a shapeless cotton dress, only three sizes too big, then stood up and made for the tiny bathroom. A sudden sound of disgust stopped her, but when she looked quizzically at the doctor, he was slapping his own forehead. "Señora, por favor," he began, but she stopped him.

"Letty, please!"

"Letty. Por favor!" Waving her on towards the next door, he unlocked it with a key, stepped back, and ushered her inside. It was a storage room, filled with shelves. Directly across from the door were neat piles of all sorts of clothing, and on the shelf below, piles of cheap rubber sandals in all sizes.

Letty grinned at him. "We're not the first patients in need you've had!" Rummaging quickly through the piles, she found two outfits that would work for herself and Javier, and then sandals the right sizes, too. And then, next to the clothes, was a small pile of combs and toothbrushes. Perfect!

On the way back out the door, he asked something else she didn't understand, then wonder of wonders, mimed a shower. Her lit-up face showed her answer, and he laughed, pointing her up the stairs. "Pero, Señora, no hay mucha agua caliente."

The apartment above reflected the man: neat and clean, without a lot of clutter but with lots of books stacked about. The living area was a single large room, with bedroom and bathroom alongside. The doctor's toiletries were simple and masculine, but served the purpose, and a clean towel was easily found in a cabinet. As much as she would have _loved_ to simply stand under the running water for an hour or two, she paid attention to her host's admonition about the amount of hot water and took a GI shower: only running the water long enough to wet down or rinse off, turning it off in between to lather up. She was both disgusted and then strangely gratified by the ugly brown scum swirling down the drain, taking away what felt like layers on layers of dirt. She'd never again take for granted the simple luxury of Being Clean.

Toweling dry body and hair, Letty slipped into her "new" clothes: loose red drawstring pants and an even looser pink t-shirt with a cartoon flamingo printed on it. Then she took a critical look at her old clothes and passed a verdict: ruined. Ripped, stained with blood and who-knows-what, filthy beyond what a washing machine could fix. She rolled them up and carried them out with her into the main room to found her host making breakfast. It wasn't much, some eggs and toast and coffee, but like the meal Padre Miguel had given her the day before, hunger made her appreciate the simple fare like never before. Doctor Morales then mixed up some milk, a raw egg, and some powder (protein, she presumed) from a can into a cup, put a lid on it, added a straw, and put it by her plate. "Por Javier," he said, and she nodded again.

After breakfast, the doctor refusing her offer of assistance in cleaning up, she went back downstairs with her clothes and Javi's breakfast. She left the cup near his bed, checking that he still slept soundly under his blanket, then added the roll of dirty clothes to the his bagged ones from the night before to be thrown out. The outfit she had selected for him, another set of drawstring pants and a large Cuban-style shirt she thought should fit loosely over his bandages, were draped on top of the laundry basket for now.

Why should she be the only clean one? Letty found a small plastic basin and a washcloth, filled the basin with warm water in the tiny bathroom, and perched on the edge of Javi's bed. She ignored his hair for now, gently wiping his face and over his beard with a well-wrung cloth, then down his neck and the good shoulder. Moving to the good right arm next, she glanced up and found he had woken, his eyes open and watching her silently.

"Hey!" she greeted him softly with a broad smile.

" _Hey."_ His response was slightly stronger and more immediate than the night before.

Remembering his panic the last time, she jumped in, "We're in a clinic. The doctor – " but he was nodding.

" _I remember."_

"I was kinda hoping you didn't. It was kinda rough," she added with untypical understatement.

" _Yeah,"_ he agreed.

"How are you feeling now?"

Javier glanced away, brow furrowed as he did an internal self-check. _"Not really feeling much of anything."_ The eyebrows rose and his mouth quirked. _"It's kinda nice..."_

"You're telling me."

" _Sorry."_ His smile added to the apology.

"I have some breakfast for you." She reached for the cup. "You're still on a liquid diet, apparently, but at least it's not just raw scrambled eggs this time."

" _Gracias a Diós."_ Accepting the straw, Javi slowly sucked down about half the contents before shaking his head, enough.

Putting the cup away, Letty returned to the washcloth. Javier's gaze sharpened. _"You're clean."_ It was nearly an accusation.

"I had a shower," she smiled. "And now I'm giving you sponge bath." Her smile broadened to a grin. "Remember cleaning me up in the shower after my last bender?"

" _Yes."_ A beat. Then, _"Favorite memory."_

That threw her. "Why?' she asked, truly bewildered.

" _You let me take care of you."_

Now she was completely floored. She covered it after a beat with her usual soft defiance. "Well, now I'm taking care of you."

He didn't reply, but she watched one cheek slowly fold into the sexy half-smile she loved so well. Knowing she was blushing, she ducked her head to concentrate on wiping the dirt off the back of his hand. When she looked up again a minute later, he'd drifted off again, eyes closed, but with a tiny smile still playing with the corner of his mouth.

She reached tender fingers to brush back his hair, then bent over the hand again.

.

.

Javier wasn't actually asleep. He was drifting, mind firmly in Park, simply enjoying the cessation of that unbearable pain (unless he tried to breathe too deeply). He wasn't completely numb; he could feel what Letty was doing, and was aware of each of his wounds, including the bruises from the beating and his throbbing left hand, but if he stayed relaxed, it was just dull enough to be called "discomfort" rather than "pain". So he simply watched his woman through lazy, half-closed eyes as she gave him the sponge bath,

He didn't ask himself, as she had, why they were together. There was no question in his mind. He had known she was The One for him very early on – the moment she'd reappeared with the tow truck for that damn dead electric Lexus, in fact, just when he had become certain she'd ditched him. He would take care of her as best he could, and he would always come back whenever she shoved him away. That's just how it was.

Letty knew he was awake; he turned his hand over for her and flexed his knee when needed. She didn't mind the silence; it was nearly as good as Alone Time. Working through several changes of water, she got all of him except his hair and his back, not wanting to ask him to shift positions and reawaken the pain; and under the various bandages, as the skin around each wound was cleaned the night before. Finally she was done, dumped the last basin of water and rinsed it out along with the washcloth, leaving both in the sink to dry. Then she returned to perch on the side of his bed again.

His eyes were fully open again. "Thank you," he said softly, even stronger than before, and she knew he meant for more than the bath.

She leaned across him and propped an elbow on the bed on his far side, brushing his chest with hers, and let her eyes twinkle at him. "Kinda gotten used to having you around. Besides, you speak Spanish. Might come in handy, here in Mexico."

Javier started to chuckle, then stopped short with a wince. "Ow!" His good hand came up and brushed back her hair. "I don't know," he mused. "You seem to be doing pretty well." The hand snuck behind her neck and pulled her down for a long, satisfying kiss. "With everything you've done for me," he went on afterwards, "I hate to ask you for anything else..."

"What?" She put on a long-suffering air.

"Do you think you might be able to find me some clean clothes, and maybe a toothbrush?" God, he was cute when he was wistful.

"Already done," she told him with evident satisfaction, and gained his brilliant smile.

"Oh, you _are_ an angel, _and_ a magician!"

"Un ángel, por cierto!" came from the doorway, and they both looked to see Doctor Morales there, smiling at them. He had put on his white doctor's lab coat, and it transformed him from an average-looking, slightly overweight, middle-aged man into exactly what he was: a trusted small-town doctor simply doing the best he could for his patients with extremely limited resources.

"Now there's another first!" Letty slipped sideways to Javi, referring to the 'angel' comment. She jumped up and went to sit on a nearby chair as the doctor walked over to Javier, formally introduced himself and asked permission for a more thorough exam. As he checked dressings and vital signs, he gave Javier the run-down on exactly what his wounds had been, and what had been done the night before. Javier kept a running translation for Letty.

When they reached the stomped-on hand, still swollen (although perhaps slightly less so) and a single, massive, multi-colored bruise, Letty again heard the word "milagro".

"What does that word mean?"

Javier gave her a half-smile. "It means 'miracle'."

She whistled. "Amen to _that!"_ and both men nodded agreement.

The doctor then launched into his prognosis in Spanish. "It may hurt like hell, but you're actually not wounded anywhere nearly as badly as you might have been. You should make a full recovery – _if_ you take it slowly and with intelligence. Push yourself a little every day, but not too hard. Your muscles need to be regrown around the holes put in them – especially your leg. How long?" He paused in reply to Javier's question. "Done right, you should be fully recovered in a few months."

"However," he went on, "unfortunately, you cannot stay here. I simply do not have the facilities for long-term care." He saw their shared worried looks as Javier translated that for Letty, and interpreted them correctly. "Not to worry," he said quickly, raising a reassuring hand. "I have found you a place already – if you both agree." He made sure to include Letty in that. "I have a cousin who runs a small coffee plantation about two hundred kilometers from here."

Javier broke in. "Coffee?" He gave his head a bewildered shake. "I didn't think it grew this far north – wait a minute. Where exactly are we?"

"The town of Marenga." He gave the name of the Mexican state, which meant nothing to Letty, but rather floored Javier.

"I didn't think we were that far south!" Explaining to Letty, he added, "I knew we were on that plane for a while, but I didn't think it was _that_ long. We're closer to Mexico City than the US!" He turned back to Doctor Morales. "Still, though, I thought coffee was further south?"

Morales nodded. "The plantation is southeast of here, east of the City. It will take a few hours to drive there." He went on to describe the situation. "My cousin has a handful of workers, who live in small houses on the plantation. He and his wife also feed them, in addition to wages. I called him this morning. They would be willing to let the two of you stay in one of the worker's houses while you recover – as long as Letty is willing to continue nursing you – I can show her what to do. All they ask is that as you get better, you both begin to take on some of the work they do, as you become able, to repay their 'investment'. Don't worry," he added, laughing at Javier's expression, "you are not selling yourselves into endless slavery. By the time you are completely recovered, the books should balance, and you can go on with your lives free and clear, and probably some money in your pockets, as well." He sobered then. "The good points are these: it is far enough away from here, and remote enough, that no one could find you there – if anyone is looking?"

At that oblique question, Javier thought carefully, then replied, "I don't think anyone is – but who knows?" Tomás he was fairly certain would not be, but he would make no promises about his unpredictable Uncle Jorge. And he had no idea who else might have been involved or interested in their kidnapping up the chain from Tomás.

He turned again to Letty, catching her up on the last exchanges. Then, "Well, babe? Are you up for some nursing, a few months of extreme boredom hiding in the country, very rough, simple accommodations, and some manual labor?"

She had come to stand beside him, holding his good hand. She made a wry face. "Sounds better than prison – or forced prostitution." She went on, "I'll do whatever it takes to survive. And keep you alive, too. As long as we're together we'll be OK." To make sure that was passed on, she nodded directly at Doctor Morales. Then back to Javier, "But I think you're going to owe me a good long stay in a fancy hotel soon." He smiled and squeezed her hand but said nothing.

"How will we get there?" was the next question. The doctor replied he would take them himself in his car the next day, his day off.

"I go and visit a few times a year, anyway, so the trip is not unusual." Then he hesitated again. The only problem was that he usually opened his clinic for a few hours on Saturday afternoons – and this was Saturday. Would they mind staying quietly in the private back bedroom for that time?

No problem, they replied, and commenced the laborious process of dressing Javier and moving him slowly there.

.

.

The afternoon slipped slowly by. They grabbed a light lunch (a sandwich for her, another cup of liquid protein for him) before locking themselves inside the back room, then Javier napped with the aid of a low dose of codeine. Letty spent the time using scissors to quietly cut up a couple more sheets into strips, and rolling them up for bandages. She offered some to the doctor, but he told her to keep them for now, using them on Javier, then he would gratefully accept whatever was left. They were clean but not sterile – but he could run them through his tiny sterilizer at need.

It was nearing closing time when they heard a commotion outside their door. Doctor Morales was arguing with an unknown man, who wanted to look inside the locked doors. Suddenly Javier whispered to Letty, "Moan loud – like you're having a baby!" She did so, nearly wailing while trying not to laugh. The voices outside stopped, and then after a moment they heard footsteps leaving.

A few minutes later, the doctor unlocked the door and poked his head in, laughing. "That was good," he told Letty. "You heard me tell the police a woman was in labor inside?" he asked Javier, who nodded, grinning.

He then sobered. "You don't trust the police?"

Morales considered, then gave a painful shrug. "I don't know whether they can be trusted. I don't actually know the particulars of your situation – and I don't want to know. Nor do I know who – if any – of the force might be secretly working for... anyone else. But why would he have been here, asking questions and looking around? It is better to remain quiet, and be safe."

His two visitors nodded agreement. Who knew? But then Javier pointed out, "Then maybe it might be better for us to leave tonight, under cover of darkness. In case someone is watching."

Doctor Morales sighed and nodded.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's note:** I hope you are not allergic to F-bombs, as this chapter is pockmarked with them. But they aren't being used in any mean way._

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

Javier gingerly rolled onto his right side – his good shoulder – then carefully maneuvered his feet over the side of the bed. Getting his right arm underneath him, he began levering himself upright. Just then Letty came in from wherever it was she had been, saw what he was up to, dumped whatever it was she was carrying onto the table, and rushed to help.

"No, babe – Letty – stop, stop!" Letty let go his arm and sat back on her heels, giving Javier a disgusted look. He went on, carefully. "Please. I appreciate that you want to help, but if I don't push myself, I'll never get stronger. I promise I'll ask for help whenever I need it, but please... let me at least try first. OK?"

"OK!" she replied, just stopping herself from adding "Whatever!" She stood up and stepped back again, and he went back to pushing. Finally vertical, he stopped for a second, panting.

"You never realize how often you hold your breath doing something like that, until you can't," he commented to the air. Then he reached up and plumped the pillows against the wall, and began the second phase: shifting his butt up so that he could lean against the pillows. Finally there, he turned again, lifting his bad leg back up onto the bed with his right hand. Letty came around and sat next to him, settling her own pillows behind her back.

"Damn," said Javier, disgusted.

"What?"

He was looking across the room. "It doesn't look any better from this angle."

She snickered. "I don't know. I think our new digs are kind of... cozy."

He gave her an ironic side-eye. "That's one word for it."

Another word was "primitive". The workers' houses on the coffee plantation were little more than huts, made from cinder blocks and tin roofs; single rooms just large enough for two twin beds (which Letty had immediately shoved against each other from their respective walls), a square table and two chairs, and a sideboard for possessions, including bottles of water. Pegs hammered into the walls were for clothes. A small window, covered with wooden shutters but no glass, in each wall partnered with the door for cross-ventilation in the hot climate. At least the wooden floor was raised off the ground away from bugs and critters. There was even an extension of the floor along the front of the little house outside, making a bench to sit on. It had no running water, and the toilet was an outhouse around the side. A single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling with a pull chain provided the only artificial light, or source of electricity had they anything to plug in.

As hideaways go, it was effective. As a relaxing hotel, let alone a hospital room, not so much.

Rather than drive all night, the trio had gotten up before dawn, piled quietly into Doctor Morales' car (a decade newer than Pablo's and in much better condition), and driven out of town before the sun rose, feeling like fugitives. If anyone was watching, they didn't spot them. Javier stretched across the back seat as best he could, wishing his shoulder and leg wounds had been on the same side so he could maybe find a comfortable position, while Letty rode in front along with the doctor. He handed her his mobile phone with the map open, showing their route, "In case you are curious."

Javier snickered from the rear. "Make sure you get it back!" Letty flipped him the finger over her shoulder without looking up.

"It won't do her any good to keep it," Morales returned. "There's no reception up there on the mountain. My cousin has to use a regular land line."

Arriving at the coffee plantation mid-morning, the doctor had stopped the car in front of the house to greet his cousin, introducing his patients to Ramon and Maribel Carmillo. "Carmillo?" It took Letty a second to place it, then, "That's the same last name as Padre Miguel!"

Doctor Morales nodded. "Another cousin."

"So _that's_ why he brought us to you!" The doctor just smiled.

Ramon had been checking Javier over suspiciously, while the object of his gaze accepted it impassively, still sitting in the back seat. "I want to make sure you are not bringing trouble here."

Javier shook his head. "I was shot and left for dead. No one is looking for us – those debts were paid." He even groveled a bit, saying how very grateful he and Letty were to find a place while he recovered, and that they would hold up their end of the bargain in work after he was better.

Finally, Ramon nodded. "OK." He directed his cousin to take the car down the slope to the workers' housing, stopping at the last one. Maribel had been there already, leaving folded bedding, which Letty hastily made the beds with after shoving them together, and then she and Doctor Morales maneuvered Javier into the house and onto one of the beds. He couldn't put any weight yet on the one leg, the opposite arm was in a sling, and he couldn't breathe deeply, making large movements difficult at best.

Doctor Morales then gave Letty a large bag of supplies from the trunk: everything she would need to nurse "her" patient, cleaning and redressing the wounds. And lastly, he placed three bottles of pills in her hands: a heavy-duty painkiller Javier translated with a grimace as oxycodone, an over-the-counter painkiller, and a course of wide-spectrum antibiotics, just in case. And he even gave her an unopened can of protein powder. "I will drive down here again in a couple of weeks. If you need me for anything before then, have Ramon call me."

Javier then reached to shake the doctor's hand. "I don't know how we're ever going to repay you for all of this. You know we have no money."

Morales waved him off with a smile. "Pay me what you can, when you can. In the meantime, this is my reward," spreading his hands to encompass his patient, alive and alert.

"It is an obligation we will not forget," Javier solemnly promised. Morales shook Letty's proffered hand, then leaned over and kissed her cheek before walking out the door and driving his car back up to the house for his visit with his cousin.

There had been curious stares from the other half-dozen-or-so workers in the other houses, but they had been told of the new arrivals beforehand, and left them alone for the time being. There would be time to get to know them later, if they stuck around.

Javier and Letty had an argument the first night, as she gave him his evening medicine – he tried to refuse the oxycodone. Bad enough he had given in to the morphine during the operation; he was determined not to get hooked on any drugs. Letty immediately lost her cool.

"Oh, spare me the macho latin bullshit!" He stared at her, outraged. "Javi, you are _not_ going to get hooked on this – trust me. You simply are not the addictive type. Believe me, I know. I've known enough of them – including myself."

He tried to break in, but she didn't let him. "Listen to me, dammit! You are _not_ going to get better if you can't get any sleep. And you are _not_ going to get any sleep without some assistance. That's all this is, some help to sleep. I know how much pain you're in. Javi, please," she begged, suddenly softening. "If not for yourself, then for me. I can't sleep if you can't."

He was still looking mulish, so she tried reason. "Look. Just use it at night, for the first week or two, until the pain starts easing. Once you're better, we'll worry about getting you off it, _if_ you've gotten hooked. But you're not going to." Whether she'd convinced him, or he was tired of listening to her, or just wanted to make the pain go away for a while and get some sleep, he silently held out his hand and took the pill she dropped into it.

No amount of painkillers could make the process of cleaning the wounds with antiseptic and repacking them with clean gauze any easier for either of them. Javier even tried to do it himself, but just couldn't do it. So he actually bit on a stick she found for him, and she simply got through it as fast as possible. The holes were already visibly shrinking, though, as surrounding flesh and muscle filled them in, so hopefully they wouldn't have to do it for too many more days.

Now, two days after arrival, sitting together at the top of their bed, Javi reflected that all in all, it could be much worse. "I suppose it's not bad, as hiding places go. Sure beats prison, anyway – like you said." He pointed to the large pile of rough cloth she'd dropped on the table. "What's that?"

"My homework," Letty replied. "They weren't kidding about getting us started working." She got up, picked up the pile, dumped it again on the bed, and sat down again for show and tell.

Twice a week, a large diesel truck with high sides on the bed lumbered up the slopes to the plantation to pick up fifty-pound sacks of dried coffee beans for transport down to the roasting facility. It also brought back empty sacks for reuse. Those rough, hand-sewn burlap bags first had to be inspected and repaired as needed. And that was now Letty's job. She picked up the top sack and started going over the seams and checking for rips. A roll of thick thread with two large needles stuck through it waited at hand.

"Here," Javier told her. "Bring the stack up closer. I'll inspect, you repair."

She stared at him. "I can do it!"

"I didn't say you couldn't!" A second later, her meaning sunk in. "I'm not taking over, I'm volunteering to help. Letty... I'm as bored as you are just lying here. Please, give me something to do!"

A couple of hours later, a knock came at the open door and Maribel poked her head in. She'd brought some food down for both of them, using it as an excuse to check in on the patient. Laughing to see a man wielding a sewing needle, she asked in Spanish if he could hem her dress next – to which Letty replied in English, smiling broadly, "after he's done mine!"

Javier held up his stomped hand, still useful for little more than barely holding onto an edge, and whispered conspiratorially to Maribel, "Let me get the use of this back, first," before turning a mock-innocent look on Letty.

Maribel left again after a few more exchanges, still laughing merrily. Letty shook her head then bent back over her sack – and then caught Javier looking quizzically at her out of the corner of her eye. "What?"

He seemed to hesitate, then, "She called me your husband. Called you Señora Pereira."

Letty shrugged. "That's the name I gave them – and the doctor – and the priest, too. It's just easier to let them assume." He was still staring, and it made her a bit flustered. "What? We've been pretending to be married for months, Javi. So what? Why are you getting all weirded out about it now?"

He looked away then, and she thought he looked upset. When his eyes returned to hers, she couldn't read them. Finally, he said quietly, "I would like to be your husband. I would like us to be married."

Where had _that_ come from? "Well, I don't think Padre Miguel makes it up here too often, he doesn't even have a car. And I don't recall seeing any other priests around."

"Pffft," he scoffed. "Since when do we do anything legally, or officially?"

"Then what are you talking about?"

He glanced away again, exhaling with a frustrated sound, which caught her attention even more. He didn't often say much, but struggling for words was not usually his problem. "I just want..." he began, then cut himself off. Finally he tossed his sack down towards his feet, then looked straight at her again. "I would like for it to be understood, between us, that we are married. That we are husband and wife, in our hearts, even if not by law. And that we will stay together, no matter what, and work together to fix whatever the problem is, whether it's between us or outside."

She was staring at him now, her mouth open. She couldn't think of a thing to say. "Letty..." He reached across with his good hand and picked up hers away from her sewing. "I love you," he added quietly. "I want you to be my wife."

Now she was completely floored. "Javi..." she began, with no idea what to say next. Dropping the bag and pulling her hand out of his, she covered her face with both hands. She felt him pull abruptly away and try to start to get up, and knew how badly she'd hurt him. "No!" she cried quickly, dropping her hands before reaching out to grab his arm, gently, and pull him back. She shifted around till she was facing him, and began again.

"Javi... you are the _best_ thing that's _ever_ happened to me. Even better than Jacob. And I fucked that up... fucked _him_ up... so badly, so many times. I fucked that up so bad that I don't know if I'll ever even be allowed to _see_ him again." She shook her head, tears starting. "I don't want to fuck us up. I've already done that, too, _so_ many times. I'm afraid... I don't want to fuck us up again."

"You won't!" he began, but she shook her head.

"I fuck _everything_ up. I – "

"No. You don't. Letty..." He took a breath. "The last two weeks, you have saved my life, literally and directly, over and over. That's not fucking up." He held up his hand, ticking things off. "You found me – and I don't know what hell you went through to do that, but you did. You bandaged my gunshot wounds. You kept me warm that first night. You fed and watered me. You went and found help. You got me to the doctor. You helped him _operate_ on me, for God's sake. And now you're nursing me. That's _eight separate times_ you _literally_ saved my life. That is _not_ fucking up. It's as far from fucking up as you can get."

She wanted so much to believe him, but he could see the struggle against her own negative self-worth in her eyes. He went on, "You want to talk about fucking up? _I_ fucked us up, badly, in the beginning."

"How?" she got out, flatly not believing it.

"By trying to control you." He paused, while they both thought fleetingly of those first days as "Mr. and Mrs. Diaz". "It took me a stupid long time to learn that I can't do that. I have to just... let you... be you. The best I can do is make suggestions, and try to influence you. I also have to let you be in charge when you know what you're doing, and hope you let me be in charge when I know what I'm doing. I do sometimes." His crooked, self-deprecating smile tugged at her heart.

"I'm getting better at that, aren't I?" she asked desperately, and his smile grew.

"Yes. We both are. I think." She nodded quickly, and he went on. "I also had to learn that sometimes, when you're under a great deal of stress, you say things that..."

"I don't mean?" she suggested, but he shook his head.

"No, you do mean them – at least at the time. But sometimes, you later regret them. I can't ignore them, that's the wrong thing to do, but I have to... let them bounce off. And concentrate instead on fixing whatever it is that's causing you so much stress in the first place. That much I can do. That's how I can take care of you. But I had to learn that." He reached his good hand to gently cup her cheek. "We've both learned. And we don't fuck us up any more. And we won't, if we try."

He was waiting for her to answer, but she didn't know what. "I..." She tried again. "I don't... understand exactly what it is you're asking of me right now."

Apparently he wasn't either, because he took a minute to answer. "Just... I just want to hear you say it, that you consider us married. That I'm your husband. That it's not just posing for others. And that you'll stay, and work with me." A tiny, rueful smile claimed his mouth. "I guess I'm asking you to promise that you won't run away again."

"I won't," she replied at once. "I won't run away, ever again. I promise." She swallowed. "I love you, too," she whispered, then she nodded agreement. "You're my husband. We're married."

The smile that slowly spread across his face warmed her like a sunrise. "And you are my wife. And always will be." His hand slipped around behind her head, and he pulled her in for a long, tender kiss, leaning over as far as he was able.

When he pulled back, he glanced down and used his good leg to kick the pile of coffee sacks away. Then he told her, "Come here." She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her. "Come _here._ Come here, Señora Pereira." Then he stopped, sliding an expression of mock contrition on his features. "Oh, I'm sorry. Was that more macho latino bullshit, expecting you to take my name?" He cocked his head to one side. "Should I start calling myself Mister Raines? Or we could do the hyphen thing..."

"Fuck no!" she broke in then. "I fucking _despise_ hyphenated names – they're pretentious as _shit._ "

He was outright laughing at her by then. "Oh, I definitely agree with that. Shall we trade last names, then, or just keep our own?"

"Noooo. I _like_ Pereira. Especially now that I can pronounce it – and spell it."

His voice was soft as silk. "Then come here... Señora Pereira." And she did. Instead of their usual wild, athletic romps, their lovemaking was slow, sweet, and tender, and not just due to his several wounds – making new connections, making love in the truest sense.

.

.

Later that evening, they were drifting off to sleep, her head on his shoulder. Letty was thinking over everything he had said. Finally, she shook her head slightly in bewilderment. "It can't be that easy," she whispered.

His eyes opened. "What?" he asked softly.

"I was thinking about what you said, about the last couple of weeks, about how I didn't fuck it up." She paused, then admitted, "I've been thinking of you, not myself."

Javier was puzzled. "And?"

She raised her head to look at him. "I've been a selfish, self-centered bitch since I was born. I've only ever thought about myself. That's why I can't make or keep friends. So is that it? I just have to think of others – of you, instead of myself?" She shook her head again, harder. "It can't be that simple."

"Sure it can. Things usually are." Outraged, she drew breath, but he silenced her with his next words. " _Simple_. Not _easy."_

Her mouth snapped shut and she blinked. After a moment, she told him, "That's kind of profound... for a hitman."

His mouth quirked. "I have my moments." He shifted a little, to look at her more directly. "So... I'll think about you, and you think about me. We'll be fine."

Letty snorted. "Now you sound like a fucking Hallmark card." She put her head back down, and went to sleep with his sexy chuckle warming her heart.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Letty opened her eyes in the early dawn light, stretched her neck a little from its overnight stiffness, and turned her head to find Javier silently watching her. "Good morning," he greeted her softly.

"Good morning."

He reached a finger to trace her lips. "You were smiling in your sleep. Good dreams?"

What had she been dreaming of? It came back to her an instant later, and she turned back to gaze at the ceiling a little wistfully. "I was dreaming of home."

Javier raised his head at that. "Of Danville?" His question was more than a little curious – she'd never referred to the town where she grew up as 'home' that he could remember.

She didn't reply immediately, and then on a seeming tangent. "Do you remember when we went back there for their wedding? That first evening – after we bailed them out! – you cooked dinner, and the five of us sat around the table eating it. Just eating, and talking, and laughing."

"I remember," he prompted her when she paused.

"That's the first time since I was a little girl that that house felt like 'home'. That it felt like I had a family."

Javier's thoughts turned to his own parallel life. Had he had a home, since being kicked out of the one he'd grown up in at sixteen after that disastrous, deadly camping trip with Santino? No.

He reached over to her far arm and pulled her gently to her side, facing him. "Close your eyes," he instructed, and as she did, leaned over to touch his forehead to hers. "I promise you, we will have a home someday – someday soon, I hope. We'll find the place where we belong, and find a house we love, and we'll make it a home. It will be comfortable, and beautiful, and we will fill it with love, and family, and friends." A gentle kiss sealed the deal. "I promise."

Half a dozen things flittered through Letty's head to say in reply, most of them sarcastic, but she settled for opening her eyes to smile at her husband, and said simply, "Yes." She cupped his jawline with both hands, smoothing his beard (which was getting a little scruffy) with her thumbs. "Babe?" she asked a little hesitantly. "I have a confession."

"What?"

"Sometimes... I wish... that we could have children of our own."

It was never going to happen - each of them had had operations several years before. While his - elective - could possibly be reversed, hers - medically necessary - never could; you can't put ovaries back in.

Javier sighed. "Me too, babe." He leaned over and kissed her tenderly.

Before they could decide to make it more, they heard the clang of the bell from the big house, calling the workers from their beds and up the hill for breakfast and the day's assignments. Javier groaned and rolled onto his back.

"Are you ready for this?" Letty chuckled.

"No," was his definitive reply, then he heaved a resigned sigh. "But, if I don't push myself – "

"You won't get stronger," she finished for him.

He grinned sideways at her, not at all upset. "You're very smart, you know that?"

Turning solicitous, she asked as they pulled on clothes for the day, "How are you feeling today?"

"I hate to admit this... you're going to laugh at me." With that intro, she _had_ to hear it. He grinned sideways at her. "I'm hungry!" he admitted plaintively.

His prediction was correct. She cracked up.

.

.

You can't keep a good man down – or Javier Pereira, for that matter. Doctor Morales must have known that his instructions for complete bed rest for several days would not be followed even as he gave them; he had quietly left a cane by the door. And by the evening of the third day after their arrival, Javier was sitting gingerly on the bench in front of their casita, holding hands with Letty. Their neighbors in the other workers' houses, seeing them outside, took the invitation for what it was and came to meet their future coworkers.

The first couple of times it was asked, Javier ignored it. But the third time someone asked about his wounds, he stopped and gave a grim, satisfied smile. "I was shot. By her ex-husband," he added, tipping his head towards Letty.

 _Good thing I've got a good poker face,_ she thought, catching the word "ex-esposo". One of the men was looking curiously at her face, and she turned her head to show the rest the fading remains of the bruise on her cheek where Tomás had slapped her, nodding at their unspoken question. "That's when he burst in," she said, tipping her head back to Javier, who translated it with a wink.

"Won't he come looking to finish it?" someone asked.

Javier shook his head. "He's dead." If they took that to mean he had killed the man, well, _he_ hadn't said it.

"Then why are you hiding here?"

Letty had an answer for that one. "He's got a brother that we're not too sure of. That's why we're not going back where we were after Javier's healed."

The crowd digested that, and nodded. The consensus, from their approving glances, seemed to agree that Letty was worth it. But that Javier was _not_ worth tangling with. They'd leave her alone.

"You know," Letty murmured to Javier. "I really need to learn Spanish."

"OK," he replied cheerfully. She fleetingly wondered what she'd just gotten herself into.

The couple was then invited to join the rest around the nightly bonfire, where they ate the light supper provided by Maribel, talked, laughed... and shared bottles of the rough local wine.

And smoked a few joints.

Not everyone partook of that, they noticed, and no censure seemed to be given to those who didn't. When one came around to Letty, she took and held it for a full half minute, considering. She glanced at Javier, who only shrugged. It was her choice, he wasn't going to dictate.

Pot had never treated her badly, or made her go crazy. It relaxed her. She took a long, satisfying drag.

The following night, she started to hand the communal joint across Javi to the next person, but he surprised the hell out of her by taking it himself. He stared at it a moment like she had, deciding, then looked at her beside him. "It's good for pain?"

"That's why medical marijuana is a thing."

"I've never even smoked a cigarette."

"I know. That's why I love you."

He let that one go this time. "But I won't have to take that damn oxycodone any more?"

"You _shouldn't_. But no guarantees. It works differently on different people. It might not have the right effect on you. But it's good stuff, not too weak, not too strong." She could feel the first drag taking effect, and wanted another.

Finally, Javi shrugged. "What the hell." He took a drag, held it, and managed to not cough until he blew it out. "Jesus, that's awful." He was laughing. "How do you stand that hot crap in your lungs?" He was still coughing.

She grabbed the joint back from him. "You get used to it." Taking another drag, she impishly blew it out into his face as he waved it off.

But then he took it back. They shared it back and forth until it was gone, and shared another every night they were there. Javier confessed he wasn't happy about it, but it was better than the oxycodone, which he never touched again.

.

.

Now, the following morning, after satisfying Javi's munchies with a big breakfast (liberally sprinkled with the doctor's protein powder for extra oomph, both for his munchies and to rebuild his torn muscles), it was time to join the regular work crew. Javier insisted he was well enough to do so, but that he and Letty would work together. "That way we should almost make a single person," he said, after checking with her several times to make sure she was OK with it.

Ramon gathered his small group of pickers together – with Letty and Javier, there were seven – and loaded them into the bed of his big diesel work truck. The couple he had ride in front with him, explaining as they went. His plantation was a small, old-fashioned, organic operation, growing arabica plants in the shade of towering canopy trees across several neighboring hillsides. During the harvesting season, November through March, he and his pickers worked their way methodically through the bushes, making a circuit about every ten days, picking only the darkest of the individually-ripening fruits, called cherries, and taking them back to the fields near the house for drying, the next step in the long process.

When they stopped at their target area for the day, Ramon distributed the five-gallon buckets to the pickers and sent them on their way, and then showed Javi and Letty an arabica bush. It was covered with large marble-sized fruit in every hue from bright green through yellow, orange, and on to deep, dark red. He picked one particular cherry, a fairly dark red, to show them, "This dark or darker. No lighter." Then he pointed out a scraggly row of bushes that were theirs and sent them on their way.

After a while, they worked out a rhythm, both of them working on the same plant and filling the same bucket, which they took turns carrying. Before too long they were indeed keeping up with the other pickers, together picking as much as any other single worker. Only his wounds – the leg in particular making walking difficult, and the one hand still somewhat useless – and both their inexperience with this type of sustained manual labor kept them back. For now.

Javier kept glancing at Letty, and finally spoke up. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"This morning, you said that one dinner was the first time since you were a kid that it felt like home, like family?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

She turned to stare at him. "Yeah, really. What are you getting at?"

He shrugged. "It just... seems really strange to me. Why didn't the house feel like home? It's where you grew up."

"I don't know!" He could see her defenses going up. "It just didn't! Why are you asking me this?"

He backed off. "I just want to help you."

Now she was really getting steamed. _"Help?_ What are you, my counselor all of a sudden?"

"No." Javier concentrated on the cherries for a moment. "Obviously, I don't know anything about psychology. All I know is that sometimes... it helps to talk about things." He shrugged. "That's it."

Letty was suddenly near tears. "Sometimes. Not always. Look..." She pointed to her head. "You open this up, and all you'll find is pain and ugliness. That's it. I don't want to _talk_ about that."

"OK." The last thing he'd wanted was to upset her. "I'm sorry. Forget it." Not sure whether he should touch or hug her, he opted for neither.

But she wasn't done, lashing out defensively. "You want me to _talk_ to you? Then how 'bout you talk to _me?_ We've been together for a whole year, and I still don't know hardly _anything_ about you!"

Javier stared at her as though this was a completely new concept. Shaking her head with a disgusted snort, she went back to picking. After a moment, he did as well. But he was thinking.

"OK," he agreed, almost lightly.

Letty rolled her eyes and said nothing, waiting for the inevitable bullshit. But what he said next floored her.

"When I was little, Papa used to beat us. With his fists." He paused, gathering his thoughts, and Letty jumped in, staring.

"You mean you and your brothers?"

"All of us," he shrugged. "Us boys, the girls, Mama. Whichever one pissed him off. Whichever one was closest. Whichever one was making the most noise. We all learned to be very quiet when he was home." The last was said almost conspiratorially.

"Jesus," she muttered. _But then, I guess I should have seen that coming._

"When I was eight, David was twelve, thirteen, shooting up like kids do." His rapidly raised, level palm showed he meant height. "And without telling anybody, he decided he had had enough. And the day he realized he had grown taller than Papa, he put his foot down." He shook his head, recalling. "I remember that day, so clearly. Papa went after Mama – she had burned something in the kitchen, because _he_ was talking to her and wouldn't let her go check. So he pulled his fist back to punch her," he demonstrated with his own fist beside his ear. "David just got in between. He said, 'No. Don't hit her. She's pregnant.' She was, with Santino. He said, 'Don't hit her.'"

Letty's mouth was hanging open, staring at him while he told the story.

"Papa just stared at him for a second. Then he just said, 'OK. You want it? Here you go.' Pow!" He mimed the punch with the sound effect, then shook his head. "Beat him to a pulp. Just this side of going to the hospital. He was good at that," he added, again conspiratorially. "He always knew _just_ when to stop. No doctors, no questions."

Letty managed to return to picking at that point, moving with Javi up to the next bush.

"Later that evening," he went on, "Carlos and I were sitting by David's bed, helping him eat, mushing up his food – his jaw was all swollen."

"How old was Carlos?"

He shrugged. "Five, maybe six. He was next after me," he addd parenthetically. "It was David, then Ava, me, Carlos, Teresa, and Santino. Anyway, the three of us... just looked at each other, and nodded. We made a..." he struggled for the words for a second, "a silent promise to each other, that we would never allow him to go after Mama or the girls again." Javier held up a hand to forestall her. "I know, I know, more macho latino bullshit – "

"Are you ever going to let go of that phrase?" she broke in, a little annoyed at his repetition of her words.

"No," he grinned. "I like it. Anyway... It was how we were raised. We were the men. It was our job to protect the women – even from Papa. So we did. For the next few months, whenever he started to go after one of them, one of us – whichever one was around – and we always tried to make sure _one_ of us was around – would get in between." He chuckled at a memory. "One time, Ava and I started pushing each other, each trying to protect the other. Papa just smacked both of us and told us to go away. He knew what we were doing, of course," he added, "we were just kids, it was obvious. But he just laughed, and said, 'OK. Here you go.' Pow!" Another mimed punch.

"What happened?" Letty prompted him when he fell silent for a moment.

"David wasn't done. He kept growing of course, getting taller, and getting stronger. He was working out in secret, to get stronger. And he started fighting back. At first, it just made things worse. Papa beat him pretty bad a couple of times. But then, one day – the second red day – David landed this _perfect_ punch, _pow!"_ He mimed an uppercut. _"Right_ on Papa's jaw. Laid him out flat, right there in the living room. Knocked him out. We were all just standing there, staring. Nobody moved. Nobody even breathed. After a minute, Papa woke up. David was just standing over him, with his fists. And he just said, 'You will _never_... hit _any_ of us... _ever_ again."

He paused dramatically. "Papa didn't say anything. He just stared at David. After a minute, David turned and walked away – went upstairs. Papa got up then and went into another room. He never said a single word about it, to anyone." He paused again and looked at Letty, smiling slightly, building the suspense. "But he never hit any of us with his fists, ever again. David stopped it."

Javier shrugged then, with a rueful expression. "Of course, he still slapped us – upside the head, Pfff!"

"Like that kid at the dinner," she said, and he nodded.

"And nothing ever stopped his mouth. He could always cut you down with a word, any time."

"I know," she said painfully, remembering Oscar's crack about her being drunk the minute he'd met her.

Javier stopped and touched her cheek. "I am sorry about that. He should not have said that to you."

She shrugged. Compared to everything else, that was such a minor thing.

Javier looked into the distance, remembering. "I looked up to David, for what he had done. For stopping Papa. He was my hero." Suddenly his face twisted with pain and anger. "And he held a _gun_ on me!"

Letty held her breath, not knowing what to say.

He went on, bitterly. "I _never_ would have thought he would do that. I _never_ would have thought he'd go to work for Papa, either. After everything he had done. Stopping the beating. Moving out as soon as he could. Distancing himself..." He paused, and came to the heart of it. "He turned out just like him."

"That happens," Letty tried to soothe him. "Fathers and sons..."

"Yeah?" he turned to her, real pain in his eyes. "And what about me, then? Am I so different?"

"Yes! You are!"

He shook his head, hard, denying it. "Letty... I _kill_ people." His voice, dropped a notch in case anyone was nearby, was suddenly full of a self-loathing she had never heard before from her normally-pragmatic man. "How is that different?"

She stared at him for a moment. "Do you enjoy it?"

" _What?"_

"Do you enjoy it? Have you ever enjoyed killing someone?"

" _No!"_ He was outraged at the suggestion. "I told you, I feel nothing!"

"Have you ever beaten somebody up – and enjoyed it?"

"No!" He thought about that a second. "I've only ever used my fists in anger once. And it didn't help," he added, remembering the feeling of his fist smashing Teo's jaw, over and over. "It wasn't really him I was angry at, anyway." he added, forbearing to add, even to himself, just who _had_ been the real target.

"Then there you go. You are _very_ different. Javi," she pulled his attention back to her, "your father was a _sadistic monster_. He _enjoyed_ hurting other people. He probably enjoyed killing them. You could see it in his face that night at dinner, how much he was enjoying the hell out of hurting and humiliating you. He didn't give a damn who else he hurt doing it, either – not even your mother." She let that sink in for a moment, then reached her hand out, placing her palm on his chest. "Javi... Your chosen profession is a separate issue. You are _NOT_ just like your father. You still have a heart."

Javier stared at her for a minute, pain still etched on his face, warring with wretched hope. He reached for her hand on his chest and brought it up to his lips, kissing her palm. When he let it go, they both turned away from the intensity of the moment, back to picking the coffee. But she watched him out of the corner of her eye, as he thought about what she had said, tasting it, trying it on.

Letty's thoughts wandered back to where the conversation had begun: her own painful childhood. After a while, she couldn't stop herself murmuring, "At least you knew who he was."

His attention caught, he knew exactly what she meant. "You really didn't know? Nothing?"

"No. Mom never said one single word – literally. Not even a name. Whenever I asked, she turned and walked out of the room without a word." She blinked back sudden tears. "I used to wonder, sometimes, if maybe she had been raped by a stranger, and literally didn't know who he was, and was too embarrassed to admit it even years later. And sometimes I hoped that was true."

He stared, nonplussed. "Why?"

"Because it was better than the alternative – that he knew about me and wanted nothing to do with me!" Suddenly her voice was cracking.

"Or she never told him – like you never told Sean."

"That would have been better, too. Better than not knowing, always wondering..."

"What?"

She dropped her hands and turned to him, tears starting for real now. "What was it about me that kept him away?" Her voice was a ragged whisper.

" _Nothing!"_ He was outraged now. Dropping the basket, he turned to her as well, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Letty, listen to me. Obviously, I know _nothing_ about _him_ , whoever he was. But I _do_ know about men – I _am_ one. And this much I know: a man either wants to be a father, or he doesn't. And if he doesn't, it doesn't matter whether the child is the most perfect angel from heaven, or the spawn of satan – _nothing_ will make him come around. And if he does, then _nothing_ could keep him away. It had _nothing_ to do with you, Letty. Only his own failings – or hers," he added, remembering the other possibility. He moved his hands to cup her cheeks. "Letty... I know you were hurt, _so_ very deeply. But listen to me. You didn't keep him away. You were _innocent."_

She stared at him. "So were you," she whispered.

He was rocked. After a moment, he nodded agreement. "We both were. Innocent victims of our parents' sins."

Letty's face crumpled, and she went into his arms, tears starting for real. He wrapped her up tightly, burying his face in her hair. But somehow, standing there holding her, he felt a tiny bit of relief, as if in offering absolution for her childhood, he was finally able to accept a little bit for his own.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note:** We're going to get back to action next chapter, I promise. There's just one more important convo to cover._

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

"De que piensas?" Letty asked Javier, brushing his hair back. _What are you thinking about?_ He had been pensively silent for several minutes, staring out at nothing with a slight frown.

He instantly lost the frown and turned an appreciative grin on her. "Pienso de que bien hablas español." _I'm thinking how well you speak Spanish._

"Ha ha ha," she replied sarcastically. Though the truth was, she _had_ picked up a lot, very quickly. Upon later reflection of her tossed-off remark, she had decided she really did want to learn the language, and set her mind to it. Javier had thrown himself into the role of Spanish tutor with gusto – the project gave both of them something meaty to chew on during their long days on the coffee plantation. He gave her daily vocabulary lists and grammar lessons, although she did a bit better with the former. Since they had no textbooks, or indeed anything to read or write with, it was all verbal and in her head. However, even though her Spanish was spotty and idiomatic, riddled with errors, and devoid of refinements beyond the most basic three tenses, she could nevertheless, these several weeks later, follow and participate in most conversations going on around her. And she continued to improve daily. After only a couple of weeks, Javier stopped talking to her in English at all, forcing her to concentrate and learn.

It surprised even her now, looking back. "I always thought I was stupid."

His expression turned outraged. "Stupid? Why?"

She shrugged. "I was failing school, even before I dropped out. I never would have graduated if I'd stayed."

"So? I dropped out, too. Letty... You are _not_ stupid. You're one of the smartest people I've ever met." She tossed him a disbelieving side-eye, but then he nailed her. "You just never found the right motivation back then."

She had to stop and think about that one. He was always doing that, making pointed observations that caught her up short with their truth.

The weeks had rolled slowly by. For the first few, neither of them had been able to do more than a half-day on the picking crew. They'd returned to the main buildings with Ramon on his truck at noon as he brought in the morning's harvest, then stayed behind when he returned to the field with lunch for the crew still there. At first, Javier had even taken siestas, completely exhausted by the morning's exertions (and she'd joined him sometimes), but then they started on some of the other tasks. The picked coffee cherries were spread on long, narrow rows of concrete to dry in the sun, a process which took two or three weeks, and had to be carefully raked several times a day to dry evenly. The last task the picking crew did before sunset was cover those rows with long tarps and stake them down, to keep dew from ruining the drying fruit – and roll those tarps back up each morning. And there was bagging the dried cherries, now properly called beans, for shipment, and stitching the bags closed. And there were always returned bags to repair, or new ones to be cut and roughly hand-sewn from bolts of burlap. And the twice-weekly truck which took the bags of coffee to the processing plant to be loaded. Even after Javier declared he was well enough to pick all day, Ramon told them he preferred them both to stay on their current schedule – those other tasks needed doing, too.

It wasn't _all_ hard work, of course. As everywhere, Sunday was a day of rest (beyond raking and tarping). Ramon and Maribel took anyone interested in the truck down the mountain to attend mass in the village in the valley. Javier and Letty were not the only ones to politely decline, and no censure was given. Clothes were washed, swimming was had (and doubled as a soapless bath) in the creek that ran through the property – a deep swimming hole had been dug some time in the past. And Maribel and the other two or three women cooked a big Sunday dinner in Maribel's spacious farmhouse kitchen for everyone on the plantation. As cooking had _never_ been Letty's forte, she usually helped around the edges – a task that only got easier and more fun the more Spanish she learned.

On Christmas Day, the two of them begged off from everything, and took a long, leisurely hike along the path next to the creek to a small waterfall into a breathtakingly gorgeous pool, miles from anything. A swim and a picnic lunch later, and they were inevitably wrapped around each other for the afternoon, scaring off the wildlife. Later, happily exhausted and sated, Letty panted, "I think you're healed." He just laughed, and kissed her again.

And other endless chores were done and repairs made. One Sunday in early January, Javier was helping Ramon change the oil in the truck in the cluttered workshop, and he spotted a very old, abandoned touring motorcycle leaning against the wall. Ramon shrugged when asked about it, "It's been there for _years._ It's a piece of crap, actually – hasn't worked in forever. I'm not a good enough mechanic to fix it." Seeing the light in Javi's eyes, Ramon laughed. "Tell you what. If you want to work on it, have at it. Use my tools, I don't care. Use your own money for parts, and if you can get it to work, you can have it."

"Seriously?"

"Why not? It's just taking up space."

So after the oil was changed, Javi cleared the junk away around the bike and inspected it. After some tinkering, he thought he might be able to get it to run, and thus began his own Sunday project. He rebuilt the small engine, replacing the oil and other worn bits and pieces, and ordering a new starter through Ramon, from their accumulating wages – but by late February, they had a working bike. A new seat – the old one was cracked into uselessness – with a low backrest for Letty, and a pair of helmets, and the mild winter Sunday afternoons after the communal dinner were spent tooling around the mountain roads.

They soon found a favorite spot to park, high on a ridge overlooking a spectacular view of farms and forests, with a stand of tall, thick pines for shade and privacy. They had some of their best sex, and best conversations, in that spot. They had continued, in between Spanish lessons, simply talking to each other about themselves and their pasts, slowly opening up and sharing their deepest fears and secrets and emotional wounds. And to her everlasting surprise, Letty had found that he had been right: it did help simply to talk about things. It didn't make anything go away, but after a while, it seemed like the spikes and blades of the big iron ball of pain and ugliness in her chest were slowly being smoothed away, leaving less of a mace and more of a cannonball resting in her gut. She could work around that – and live and love around it, too.

They were in "their" spot now, watching the afternoon sun sink towards the horizon. "Seriously, babe, what _were_ you thinking about? You looked so serious."

Javi sighed. "I was thinking about how we got here. I'm still trying to figure it all out."

"Was it really your uncle?"

He nodded. "Jorge. My father's younger brother." Realizing he had never done so, he gave her the rundown on his time in Tomás' "hospitality".

"What did Jorge want?" Letty returned to the main point.

"I've been trying to figure that out. It didn't seem to make sense. There was something... off about the whole conversation." Brows furrowed, he stared at the distant ridge without seeing it. "He started off accusing me of having killed Papa and David, so I told him all about Teo..." His face suddenly cleared. "That was it. He wasn't surprised. He _knew_ about Teo. I think he knew the truth all along. He was finding out what _I_ knew."

"Was Teo _working_ for him?"

Javi thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. "I have no idea. I couldn't say."

"Did Jorge tell Tomás to kill you?"

"No, in fact, he told him to keep me. He got a phone call and was leaving, but he said he'd be back – and that they'd talk about 'supplying' Tomás then, too. Tomás turned around and made his own plans." His expression turned disgusted. "Took me out to the dump, shot me, and left me to die. Then I guess he brought you out later."

She nodded, though it hadn't been a question. Javi didn't notice. He was thinking about Tomás parting shot: "While I'm fucking your girlfriend."

"Letty..." He stared at the ground, unable to look at her just then. "Did he..."

Letty held up her hand immediately. "Don't ask," she said flatly. "Don't make me lie to you."

Which was answer in itself. Javier's face went dark with fury, and he balled up a fist and slammed it into the ground beside him. "It should never have happened," he ground out between clenched teeth. "I should have _protected_ you."

"Tcha," she scoffed. "You were kinda tied up at the moment." Well, gunshot, actually, but she didn't want to rewind.

"It doesn't matter," he replied. "You should have never been in that position. I failed. I know, I know, 'macho latino bullshit', but that's the way I was raised. It's my job to protect you."

 _It's bullshit, all right,_ she thought. She very obviously leaned back and over, looking on the ground behind Javier and brushing at his back.

"What are you looking for?" he demanded.

"Your cape, Superman. You must have left it somewhere." At his bewildered _"What?"_ – that reference flew right over his head – she went on. "Well, obviously, you must have super powers of some kind, if you could have rescued me while you were tied up in the basement, or lying shot in the junk yard." She took a breath, then slipped a comically exaggerated look of realization on her face. "Oh, I'm sorry, is it my job as your wife to always support you in every little thing, even when you're being a complete ass and dead wrong as well?"

Stung, he looked away. She could see his jaw clenching, but she waited for him to work it through.

After a minute, he said quietly, "No. But it _is_ your job to always tell me the truth – even when I don't want to hear it."

Now it was her turn to look away, and his to wait. They had both learned patience when talking to each other.

Her voice was as soft as his. "I made up my mind to do whatever I had to do to survive, to find you again. Don't think I..." her voice broke. "Don't think I enjoyed the least little bit. I made him promise first – for what it was worth – to let me see you after. Then I just... kept my mind busy. He didn't hurt me."

"Yes he did!" Javier was furious again. He reached around and touched her cheek, healed now, but where the bruise had been, and then gestured down that side. "That wasn't just one slap!"

"It could have been a _hell_ of a lot worse!" she cried.

"Are you _defending_ him?"

"NO!"

"Then what _are_ you doing?" She couldn't answer. _"Letty!"_

"Give me a minute!" Letty threw her hand up again, and Javier snapped his mouth shut, turning again to stare out over the valley with clenched teeth. They had learned that trick, too: sometimes one or the other needed a minute (or more) to do an internal check of thoughts and feelings, to figure out what was really going on inside.

When she spoke again, it was in the rawest whisper. "I'm defending myself." His fury melted instantly at the sight of the tears on her face. "I'm defending my decision to just go along with... whatever. Because if I hadn't, he _would_ have hurt me, badly – maybe killed me."

Javier's face twisted in pain. "Baby, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Forcing himself to swallow his pride and fury – _she_ was the one who had been raped, after all – he reached out with both arms and gathered her in close. She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed; wracking, painful, wrenching moans like an animal was trying to escape. He held her tight, ignoring the tears tracking his own cheeks.

When at last she fell silent, drained, he began whispering again into her hair. "I'm sorry, baby. You were right. You did the right thing. He would have..." He couldn't say it. Taking a deep breath, he started again. "Please forgive me. I need to ask you just one more thing, then I'll never go there again. Was it only him, or were there others?"

Letty shook her head against his shoulder. "Only him."

"OK," he replied. "That's all I wanted to know." Lifting his head, Javier stared out again unseeing, his face as hard as iron. "This is another debt, that I will remember. I won't go looking for him, I promise. But if I ever see him again... He will pay what he owes." The threat was all the more serious for being unspecified.

But here was something else Letty needed to tell him. She sat up straight to look at his face, and he gently wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "Javi... I can't..."

"What?"

She took a deep breath and made her mouth work. "I can't join your profession. I can't do it. I can't even bear to think about what I did. I can't do it again. I can't... I can't ever get to the point where it doesn't bother me. I won't."

"It's ok, baby. I understand. I don't really want you to. It would change who you are. That's not you." He paused, swallowing. "I'm sorry for the times I dragged you into it. I shouldn't have done that." Another pause. "To tell you the truth, sometimes it bothers me, that it doesn't bother me, if you know what I mean."

"Then stop doing it. You're already stopped – don't start it again!"

He looked away, sighing heavily. They'd had _this_ conversation before. "It's good money!" he declared, but she shook her head vehemently.

"No, it's _not!_ It may be a lot of money, but it's not 'good'! It's _blood_ money!"

"It's what I do. It's what I'm good at. How else am I supposed to make enough to support us? The kind of life we like isn't cheap!"

"You're a cook – a chef – and a damn good one! You claimed you were a private chef – have you ever actually done that?"

"Yes!"

"Then do it again! That _is_ good money! We just have to find you the right gig!"

"That's expensive too – getting set up."

"We'll figure it out." They were getting away from the point. "Babe, please." She rubbed a hand over her face. "I'll tell you what. If you ever start thinking about it – or get an offer – come talk to me before you take it. OK?"

A rueful smile claimed his mouth, with a snort of laughter. "Like I don't know what you'll say!"

"So?" She tried the tack that had worked earlier. "Aren't married couples supposed to _talk_ to each other before making big decisions!"

"Ooooooo! Ow! Who gave you _that_ weapon?"

"You did."

"Note to self..." Shaking his head, he glanced out at the sun, nearly touching the far ridge. "We'd better get going, it's getting dark." He hated riding the bike on the twisty mountain roads after dark; the bike's headlight was nearly worthless. Standing up, Javier reached down for her hands and pulled her into a kiss and a hug before turning to walk over and pick up their helmets. She grabbed his arm and stopped him, pulling him back around.

"Javi...?"

Her obvious hesitancy caught his attention, and he turned back to take her in his arms again. "What?" he asked tenderly.

"Do you... do you still want me? After..." She couldn't finish, but didn't need to, as something in between bewilderment and outrage crossed his features.

"Haven't I _proved_ that I do – every damn day?"

"Yes..." she admitted. "I just... I just need to hear you say it."

Javier pulled his arms back to take her face in both hands. "Then hear this. Letitia Raines Pereira, I want you all day, every day, so much that I _ache_ sometimes. And there is _nothing..._ that _anyone..._ could _ever_ do to change that. I _need_ you. And I love you." And he capped it off with a long, tender kiss.

She managed a smile after that, impishly telling him simply, "Likewise." He laughed at that, before leering at her.

"Hold that thought till we get back to our casita." He turned again and pulled her along to the bike. She noted ruefully that he hadn't actually made her _any_ promises, but let it go. He had to think about things, that was just his way.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

At last the harvest was done. At Ramon's request, Letty and Javier remained on the plantation until the very end, after the rest of the pickers had moved on to their next jobs when the bushes were bare, until the very last coffee beans had been dried, bagged, and sent off to the processing plant. Javier's wounds had healed well – although he would walk with an occasional limp for the rest of his life – and they had learned more about growing coffee than they ever wanted to.

"If you ever want to come back, you're welcome any time," their host assured them as he paid out their accumulated wages (minus room and board, and advances for motorcycle parts, and clothes and shoes from the tiny store in the village). They ended up with a couple thousand dollars' worth of pesos.

"That's it?" Letty whispered to her husband, astonished.

"Welcome to the world of migrant farm labor," he replied, not at all sarcastic.

Letty swallowed her dismay to give Maribel a long farewell hug. She'd surprised herself by how strong a friendship had developed between them, even before they could really talk. By the time Letty had learned enough Spanish that she could have begun spinning her usual stories, she simply no longer wanted to. Maribel – and the other women – had already accepted her for herself: a slightly lost, bewildered, fragile woman just holding it together while her man healed, doing whatever was needed and helping out however she could, always ready with a friendly smile and willing, if untrained, hands.

Ramon gave Javier a last going-away gift, too: a pair of old leather saddlebags for the motorcycle, so Letty wouldn't have to carry all their worldly possessions in a backpack. With a final wave goodbye, the couple climbed on the bike, turned the headlight towards Mexico City, and roared off down the mountain.

They stopped at lunchtime in a medium-sized town near the outskirts of the City and picked up something to eat at a food truck, promising themselves a good dinner at a real restaurant later. As Letty turned away from the trash can, she spotted a cute little clothing boutique across the street.

"Ooooo," she sighed. She was heartily sick of the clothes she had been wearing the last few weeks. "Let's go have some fun."

"No," Javier replied flatly. He knew what she was thinking.

"But Javi – "

"No!" he repeated. "Letty – _Letty!"_ Gaining her full attention, he dropped his voice low. "Look around! _Everyone_ is watching you. Even in rags, you're still gorgeous, and you stand out in a place like this like a red rose in snow. Until the moment we leave town, you'll never have less than a dozen pairs of eyes watching your every move. _You won't get away with it."_

Mollified – though she wouldn't admit it – that he hadn't used the sore thumb analogy, Letty saw his point. Everybody in view was indeed watching her, even if only through sidelong glances. But... "You mean I have to keep wearing these rags?"

"Not at all. I'm sick of these too. But we're going to pay for them like normal people. But not there," he added, nodding across at the boutique before swinging further right. "There." His choice was a small department store catering to a slightly lower economic strata than the boutique. Letty rolled her eyes, but saw his point – they could get more for their pesos there. She just hoped she'd find _something_ wearable.

She did, actually – they both did, and walked out forty minutes later with a large paper store bag about half full of decent clothes, if not exactly the style they used to wear. Letty thought longingly of all the clothes they'd left behind in their hotel room in LA. "Can we just look for a minute?" she pleaded with Javier, taking his hand and walking towards the boutique. "I promise I'll be good! I just want to see what's in style here."

"Fine," he sighed, taking the store bag from her hand so she couldn't stuff anything into it. For the next fifteen minutes, he was the long-suffering husband, bemusedly trailing behind his shopaholic wife by several feet as she picked up item after item, then put each one back. She lingered a while over a particular red print dress, cinched just right, holding it before her and "modeling" it for Javi, who smiled appreciatively, before hanging it back on the rack with a sigh. When Javi accidentally knocked a few pairs of jeans off the nearby shelf a minute later, it was time to go.

Coming out of the boutique, Javier stiffened a little, but she didn't notice. He took her elbow and steered her back towards the bike, parked on the street a few yards away. "Let's move the bike into the lot away from the traffic," he told her, a little loudly over a passing truck, motioning towards a parking lot behind the sidewalk. She sighed and followed, taking the bag as he handed it to her, along with her helmet. He swung his leg over and started the bike, then grabbed his own helmet and quickly put it on. "Get on," he told her.

"It's twenty feet!" she protested.

" _Letty. Get on."_ he hissed, suddenly intense.

Letty rolled her eyes theatrically, but humored him, climbing on behind him and holding the bag between them. She even put her helmet on, playing the good girl – and then he suddenly gunned the motor, skirling around in a screech and taking off down the road, right past three guys walking purposely towards them. One of them yelled something, and the one closest to the street jumped out as if to grab the bike or the riders, but Javier swerved wildly past him and away.

"What the _fuck?_ " Letty yelled. "Who was that?"

"Gang members, it looked like," Javier said over his shoulder. "I saw them when we came out – a dozen or more hanging around, and all of them _way_ too interested in you."

"Oh," she replied quietly.

"You know, we need to come up with a code word."

"What?"

"A code word, something that says _'emergency, stop arguing and go along with it'_ ," he elaborated. "For situations like that. We wasted too much time back there."

Letty thought for a moment. "Sugar," she said simply.

"What?"

She grinned at his shoulder. "People in the South say it all the time. Like 'darling' or 'dear'. Sugar."

Javi twisted his neck to shoot her a skeptical look. "Everybody says it? Men and women?"

"Yes. Everybody says it to everybody."

At that, he shrugged. "Works for me. Sugar it is. – _SHIT!"_

" _What?"_

He pointed his chin to his rear view mirror. "They're following us." He'd spotted a silver sedan pulling out and coming fast after them. It was too far to see clearly, but he was pretty sure at least three of the gang members were inside. Javier gunned the engine again, tearing down the main street through the last block of the town and into the strip of countryside separating the town from the City. As he watched in the mirror, the sedan did the same.

Javier coaxed the old bike past a slower car, pushing it as hard as he could. "Faster!' Letty shrieked, but it was no use. This was its top speed, and the sedan was gaining, streaking past the same car and inching closer. The road gained an extra lane in each direction, and more traffic, and he started slaloming through the cars, the sedan staying a hundred yards behind as if on a tether.

He almost sighed in relief as they topped a rise, knowing they'd go faster downhill, but then he grinned broadly and let out an uncharacteristic whoop. A quarter mile ahead, traffic was nearly stopped, backed up from the inevitable road construction up ahead. He didn't slow down, but took to the narrow shoulder between cars and railing – too narrow for the sedan – and zoomed up beside the traffic, ignoring their angry honks with nonchalance. Letty screeched and hid her face in the back of his shoulder, not daring to look at the cars inches from her knee. Javi grinned again as he caught sight of the sedan in the mirror, coming to a screeching halt before it reached the backup. It stayed still for a moment, then the driver wrenched it around, nearly causing a wreck as he did a u-turn into the other lanes, and wove his way back the way they came.

He didn't relax, though, until they'd gone several blocks past the road work and their road turned into one of the dozens of highways heading into Mexico City. They blended into the traffic with ease, losing any worries of being marked or followed. "It's OK," he called over his shoulder. "We've lost them. You can relax."

Letty loosened her arms a bit from their death clutch on his torso, and sat up straighter. "Thank you?" Even she wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question.

But he turned it back on her. "Thank _you!"_

"For what?"

"For being such a good decoy." He grinned at her over his shoulder. "Look in your bag."

Making sure of her balance, Letty brought one hand back and opened the top of the store bag wedged in between their torsos – and goggled at the red dress she'd admired in the boutique, now on top of the pile. "You sneaky little bastard!" she yelled as she tucked the top of the bag back down and grabbed hold of him again.

Javi laughed. "Well, everybody was watching you, so I figured, why not?"

"I thought you didn't like stealing," she reminded him slyly.

"I _don't!"_ was his immediate, forceful reply. "I am _not_ making a habit of this. I just figured after the last few months, you deserved some spoiling." He caressed her hands with his left, gear-shifting one. In response, she kissed the back of his neck under the helmet.

He gunned the bike again, and they were gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

They stayed just over a week in Mexico City, checking into a small, affordable hotel near one of the better shopping districts. Letty used her talents to slowly increase both the size and the quality of their wardrobes (and wallets), while Javier followed his own instincts to track down, starting with a nightclub bouncer who directed him to one of the bartenders, a gentleman who could procure excellent fake ID's. Within four days, they each had drivers licenses from Los Angeles and US passports they were assured would pass all but the most stringent inspections.

To celebrate, they stopped at a sidewalk cafe and shared an ice cream sundae, resorting once to a spoon duel to decide who got the next mouthful. A minute later, though, Javi realized he'd had the last three dips unopposed, and looked up to find Letty staring thoughtfully at his shoulder while sucking on her empty spoon.

"What _are_ you thinking about?" he wondered.

Letty met his eyes then, seeming to come to a decision. Pulling the spoon out of her mouth, she pointed it silently over his left shoulder. He twisted around to see, then slowly swiveled back, rather bewildered. "You're thinking of robbing a wedding chapel?" he asked, incredulous.

"No, dummy. I'm thinking of _using_ it, for its intended purpose."

That really threw Javi. "Why? – I'm not objecting, just curious. I thought we had agreed that what we have between us is sufficient?"

"It is," she replied immediately, "for _us._ But _not_ for the world. And I'm _convinced_ that sooner or later, we're going to run into that one asshole official who won't just take our word for it, but insist on that piece of paper. And with my luck, it'll be a prosecutor. Javi..." He was startled to see tears spring to her eyes. She leaned forward and lowered her voice, although the nearest people were three tables away, and they were speaking, for once, in English. "I don't _ever_ want to be forced to testify against you. Or you against me."

He reached out and claimed her empty hand. "Likewise. OK, I'm convinced. Though I confess, that's the _strangest_ proposal I've ever received." He grinned merrily at her.

"You've had other proposals?" she pounced, eyebrows flaring.

"I am _not_ answering that," came his sensible reply, then he went on to distract her. "But before we slide across the street, we need to do something else first: buy a couple of wedding rings – and I do mean _buy_." He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. "Just as you don't want to face that official without that paper, I don't _ever_ want _anyone_ to be able to rip the ring I give you off your finger because it was stolen. Even if we can only afford plain gold rings, I want them to be _ours."_

"Likewise," she echoed, smiling her love back. "But I think we can do better than that."

Javi glanced to his right, confirming that there was, indeed, a jewelry store just steps away. He nodded that way. "Then shall we, Mrs. Pereira?"

"In a minute," she said, grabbing the sundae glass. _"After_ this is finished."

Javi sat back, smiling fondly, and watched her devour the remaining ice cream with gusto.

Two hours later, Mr. and Mrs. Pereira not only had their duly-witnessed and officially-legal piece of paper, but were sporting matching tungsten bands, engraved all around the outside with celtic designs inlaid with black, and on the inside with "SOLO YO – SOLO TU" (only me – only you).

.

.

Later that afternoon, back in their hotel room, it was Letty's turn to find Javier staring pensively at the opposite wall from his perch on one of the two beds, leaning against the headboard. "What are _you_ thinking about?"

"That phone," he replied, nodding sideways at the ubiquitous instrument on the bedside table. "I'm trying to remember how to place an international collect call – direct calls out of this place are completely outrageous."

Letty plopped down on the other bed. "Who do – Ava," she answered her own question. When he raised his brows and nodded, she smiled. "I want to call Christian."

Javi had to go through the hotel operator anyway, and decided for some reason to place Letty's call first, as she gave him the number from memory – at least, she _hoped_ her friend still had the same cell number. "It's Letty, Christian," she said to the prompt, and then they both listened to the earpiece, sitting side by side, while the call went through.

A long thirty seconds later, a familiar – and astonished – voice came on. _"Letty?!"_ Javi grinned and pulled away, letting her listen by herself.

"Hey, Christian!" was all she could think of to say.

"I don't believe it – I thought you were dead!"

"Well, that's probably not the first time," she said ruefully, thinking of all the times she'd disappeared for months or years.

"Wait... tell me something only the real Letty would know." Apparently Christian was not yet convinced.

She only needed to think for a moment. "You're still not an actor on NCIS."

"Holy _shit! Letty!_ It's really you!"

"Hey, Christian!" _Instant deja vu_ , she thought.

"Wait a second. What are you doing in Mexico?"

"It's a long, long, _long_ story, and I really don't feel like talking about that whole shitshow. We didn't come here by choice, but we're OK now."

" 'We'?" Christian, no idiot, had picked up on that word, of course. "You're still with Javier?"

"Yes, I'm still with Javier," she replied, grinning at said man beside her.

Javi leaned over and said into the phone, "Hi, Christian!"

" _Javi!"_ Christian practically yelled back gleefully. Letty tipped the receiver again and motioned Javi back over to listen with her.

"Yeah?" Javi asked.

"You taking good care of our little girl?" Christian wanted to know.

"Trying to. When she's not taking care of me." He winked and leaned away again.

"Good man," Christian commented, then added, obviously straight to Letty, "You're finally learning that, are you?" 

"Well, that's what married couples do, isn't it?" she retorted, then of course had to reconfirm their status when he squeaked. "Speaking of which, how's Rhonda?" she asked to change the subject. When he didn't answer right away, Letty was immediately concerned. "Christian?"

"Rhonda's dead," came the quiet reply.

"Oh my god!" she breathed, then mouthed the word 'dead' to Javier's shock. "I'm so sorry! What happened?"

It was the damn Sprinter, Christian informed her. Rhonda had been driving in the rain, too fast, and skidded off the road. "I wasn't with her," he added.

They got through the I'm-so-sorries and I'm-doing-okay-I-guesses, then it was Christian's turn to change the subject. "Are you guys headed back to the US, then?"

"No," Letty admitted. They _had_ talked about it, but... "We're just not ready – _I'm_ just not ready yet to come back to the states." She knew what his next question would be. "I don't know when I will be, either. There's just too much garbage back there. I can't face it."

"You haven't called your Mom?" he guessed correctly.

"No. And I don't want you to, either. Or Jacob."

"Letty... they probably think you're dead, too."

"Maybe. Maybe not. I've disappeared before. But even if so... it's better this way. Jacob's better off without me fucking up his life any more. He has a better chance of being a normal boy, a normal _person_ , without me wandering in and out of his life every few months and fucking it up. No, Christian," as he tried to break in, "I don't want to talk about it. Don't tell them. I mean it." She took a deep breath and tried unsuccessfully to make a joke. "Besides, I doubt she'd accept a collect call from Mexico." It wasn't funny, because it was true.

Javier had slipped his arm around her waist, and she leaned into his shoulder, waiting for Christian to come around. He did, leaving the former subject behind. "Where are you headed, then?"

"Acapulco." They had already agreed that Mexico City just didn't have a good vibe for them. The tourist mecca on the coast, though, promised a lot more opportunities for people with their talents, both legal and not. "We're gonna try it for a while, and see if we like it."

"You need some money?" Christian volunteered, and she had to laugh, a little shakily.

"No. But I might need to take a rain check."

"You got it."

"You're a good friend, Christian, you know that?"

"Yeah, but I'm trying not to let it go to my head."

The call was beginning to cost, and she said so. "I'll let you go. Love you, Christian!"

Javier leaned over to echo it. "Love you, Christian!"

Christian laughed and sent his love back to both, then clicked off.

.

.

Javier's call to his sister, Ava, was nearly a repeat of Letty's. Javier had never disappeared for so long before, with his cell phone number getting discontinued and no replies to her emails so she couldn't get a hold of him _at all_ , so she had also begun to fear that he was dead. He gave her no details, either, distracting her with the news of their marriage, which Ava received ecstatically, and their intention to stay "for a while, at least" in Acapulco. His nieces were not at home, but Ava was certain that once they heard that magic name, they'd be after her to let them fly down to visit.

Javier laughed. "I'll be sure not to give you our address, then!" Although secretly, he thought that idea sounded like fun. He signed off soon after, with a promise to call back as soon as they were settled somewhere. Letty leaned in to give Ava her love as he had before.

.

.

Letty had "improved" their wardrobes to the point that their stuff wouldn't fit into the saddlebags any more, and Javi had to find a small trailer to pull behind the bike – not that he was complaining. It felt good to own more than one change of clothes again (and those nearly rags, at that). On a fine afternoon they pulled into Acapulco, only a few hours away from the City, and set about finding digs.

A small, furnished apartment with decent security not too far from the resort hotels worked to start off with – they took Christian up on his offer for the first month's rent. The complex was apparently specifically designed for short-term use by employees of those hotels, so the couple immediately began fulfilling that end. And it didn't take long – Letty practically hired herself at the first (and most exclusive) hotel they hit.

As Javier went to find the catering manager to try to talk himself into a job on her staff, Letty sat at the busy but obviously understaffed basement bar for fifteen minutes without being served. Then she flagged the stressed-out manager acting as the sole bartender down.

"You need help. I'm a mixologist," was all she said as introduction.

Juan Carlos (according to his nametag) was taken aback, but only for a moment. He quizzed her on how to make a few drinks, reaching the fifth before she was stumped. "Is that a local one?" she asked.

He grinned. "Yup. My own concoction." He had one other concern, though. They had been speaking English, and most of the hotel's guests were American, but could she handle their Spanish-speaking customers, too?

"Si," she replied immediately, "estoy aprendiendo nombres de bebidas en español pero es fácil." _I'm still learning drink names in Spanish but that's easy._

He was still hesitant. "You haven't been trained or vetted – "

"Simple," she broke in. "I'll make the drinks, you handle the money. We'll figure out the paperwork after the rush is over." Three servers were now stacked up by the register waiting for their orders to be filled, and several customers at the bar were getting visibly impatient, glaring at the two of them apparently just talking.

"Get back here," Juan Carlos told her decisively, jerking his head towards the employee door. "There's an apron on the wall."

Two hours later, she hastily wiped down the bar in front of a new customer without looking up. "What can I get you?"

"A beer and a kiss, por favor," came a familiar voice. It was Javier, grinning.

"Hey," she said, leaning over to give him the requested smooch. "How'd you do?"

"Not as good as you, apparently," he sighed. "I can't get onto the catering staff without proving myself, so I get to play line cook in the main restaurant for a while. I start tomorrow."

"Well, that's still great!" She pulled a glass of his favorite beer without asking. They had agreed they would at least attempt life on the right side of the law. _(At least until I get the security system figured out,_ Letty thought but did not share. She didn't ask what Javier really thought, not wanting to push him too hard about his – hopefully former – line of work.)

They managed to get their schedules coordinated, too, both working the busiest afternoon-to-evening shift. For a change, they saved as much as they could, spending as little as possible on their days off and eating breakfast at home. They only splurged on a pair of prepaid smart phones – Letty immediately felt tons better with her electronic pacifier in her hands, finding the latest mindless game and plunging in. Javier checked in with the catering manager once a week, but kept getting put off – finally she told him he had to put in six months on the line before she'd consider him. As it was, Letty was bringing home twice as much what with her tips, but it wasn't the money that bothered him, it was the mind-numbing, high-stress job of putting out huge numbers of the same dishes day after day in less time than they really required. But there was always the beach on their days off, and the hotel nightclubs for dancing. He made up his mind to endure the six months.

And then Ava called.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

It was Wednesday morning, their mutual day off. Letty had run out to the nearby produce market to pick up some fruit for breakfast, and returned to their furnished apartment to find Javier staring at nothing, his face both uncertain and thunderous.

"Babe? What is it?"

Coming to with a start, he glanced at her with a heavy sigh. "Let's go for a walk on the beach."

"Okay." Setting the bag of fruit on the tiny kitchenette counter, she took his hand and off they went. They walked the six blocks to the sand in silence, took off their shoes, and turned north along the edge of the waves.

"Hey," Letty finally squeezed his hand. "What's up? What did Ava say?" His sister had left a voice message the evening before while they were at work, for him to call her back. She had a feeling that return call was what had caused this thundercloud.

"She had a message for me," he slowly began. "After that last time, the dinner..." Letty nodded. No need to elaborate on _that_ one. "After Papa had set her up, to set _me_ up, she says she doesn't trust her instincts any more. She just doesn't know what to think, so she's only passing on the message, nothing more. It's up to me – up to us – to decide what to do with it."

"So what was the message? From who?"

"From Mama. It's simply, she wants me to come home. She wants to see me."

"In Buenos Aires?" She'd finally learned to say it correctly. Javi nodded. "That's it? That's the whole message?"

He nodded again, then shrugged. "I'm her only remaining son. It's natural that she would want to see me." He didn't sound quite one-hundred-percent convinced, though.

"Do you trust her?" When he started to turn an outraged look at her, she warded him off with her free hand. "Hey, I'm only playing devil's advocate, here – trying to help untangle this knot. Okay?" They'd both had practice at that with each other the past few months.

Javi took a few paces in silence. "If you'd asked me that before the dinner, I wouldn't have hesitated: of course I trusted her. She wouldn't set me up. But now... like Ava, I don't know what to think any more." A pause. "I haven't seen her – Mama – since I was sixteen. Before then... she was as much Papa's victim as the rest of us. I never knew her to be involved or even aware of the things he did – even now, I'd need to see real evidence that she even knew about the drug trafficking, let alone was involved in it somehow."

"How did Ava come to have this message?"

"She talks to Mama on the phone about once a month. She had told her before that she thought I might be dead, and then after I called, told her where I was and what I was doing. So Mama said she wants to see me."

After a few more steps in silence, Letty observed, "It sounds to me like you're leaning towards going. But why don't you call her instead?"

Javi shot her a pensive look. "After everything... all the years of silence, then that dinner... This is a conversation that needs to happen face to face." She nodded understanding. Javi stopped walking and turned to face Letty. "But... she's my mother," he ended with a pain-filled, helpless shrug. "I need her to _see_ me." She knew he didn't mean just physically.

Letty took his face in both hands and nodded before giving him a kiss and then wrapping him up in her arms, and they buried their faces in each other's shoulders. One of the major recurring themes of their months of occasional mutual "therapy" had been rejection – especially his rejection by (almost) his entire family, driven by his father, after the death of Santino, and the role that rejection had played in his acceptance of the career he'd slipped into. He'd never quite been able to face the question of the deeper meanings of that career – had he been trying to symbolically kill his father?

After a few minutes, Letty drew back and turned the conversation to sensible matters. "So when are you flying down there?"

" 'We'," he corrected. "Please come with me. I _need_ you to be there." That word, and the intensity with which he said it, fanned the fire in Letty's heart as it always did.

"Okay," was all she said, but her smile added the rest. "So when are _we_ flying down there?"

"As soon as we can make arrangements, I guess."

"How long are we staying, do you think?"

He hesitated, long enough to warn her. "Letty... that's just it. I'm not getting anywhere here. The catering manager is never going to hire me."

"But she said six months as a line cook..."

Javi waved his hand dismissively. "That was a brush-off. She's hired two chefs in the last two weeks – and neither of them put a _day_ on the line."

Letty groaned in exasperation. "That _bitch..._ " He gave his half-smile and squeezed her hand in appreciation. "What about other hotels, though?" she pressed.

"I've been trying. Every day that you're working but I'm off, I've hit every hotel, every catering company. Nothing. Not a single nibble." They'd started walking slowly up the sand again. Javi shook his head ruefully. "I should have asked that guy for an Argentinian passport. A couple of managers seemed interested, but as soon as they saw the USA book, it evaporated. Americans are not well-liked down here these days."

"Except when they're spending money," Letty agreed. "I was lucky – we both were – to get the jobs we did."

"We fell into them – the bar and the restaurant managers were desperate." She nodded agreement.

"So," she returned to the main point. "You're thinking of moving to Buenos Aires permanently?"

"At least give it a shot." He grimaced. "I _like_ Acapulco, dammit. I kinda hate to leave. But I'm just not getting anywhere. And I don't want to be a line cook the rest of my life." He pulled her to a stop again, facing each other, and lifted his free hand to brush her hair back. "I'm sorry, Letty. I know you really like your job."

She smiled again. "It's okay. I can mix drinks anywhere. I like Acapulco, too – but it hasn't become 'home' – not yet. And if it's not working for you, then it's not working for us." She shrugged. "So let's give Buenos Aires a shot."

.

.

They did the responsible thing, for the first time in each of their lives, and gave their respective managers a couple of days' notice. Javi sold the motorcycle, with trailer and saddlebags, to their downstairs neighbor who had been admiring it, gaining enough to cover the cost of their one-way plane tickets, unfortunately not first class. A couple of suitcases to hold all their accumulated worldly possessions, and four days later they were winging southeast on a direct flight from Mexico City to Buenos Aires. To Letty's amusement, Javier had charmed the gate attendant into giving them free upgrades.

Before takeoff, Javi downloaded maps of the city, province, and country to his smart phone, and spent the first part of the overnight flight giving Letty an introduction to his home town. Even though he hadn't seen it in over two decades, his love for it shone through every word, as he pointed out landmarks and neighborhoods, and told what he knew of the history and demographics of the very cosmopolitan city. Switching to the wider map, he drew in a sharp breath involuntarily, and had to look away for a minute, before quietly pointing out to Letty the symbol for the national park a short distance outside of the city: the scene of his little brother Santino's tragic death.

They landed midmorning and snaked slowly through customs after retrieving their bags. They held their breaths, trying to look as though they weren't, as the official seemed to take just a little too long in checking their passports, but then he handed them back and waved them through. Javier wanted to get it over with, so they hailed a taxi and took it directly to his childhood home where his mother still lived. He hadn't sent any message or called to warn her, and both of them knew that so much was riding on her initial reaction on seeing him.

Letty couldn't help but be impressed by the size and beauty of the Spanish Colonial mansion the taxi deposited them at, and she revised her unspoken estimation of Javi's late father's wealth and importance upwards a few notches. The mansion – just big enough to qualify for the description – stood partway up one of the city's hills, not at the top, but respectably elevated above the plebes. It promised a gorgeous view out the back. She raised an eyebrow. No wonder her husband shared her appreciation for fine living: unlike her, he'd grown up with it.

Javier didn't catch his wife's reaction; he was busy keeping himself together as he paid the cabbie (who placed their bags on the porch), then took a deep breath – and then another – and pressed the doorbell with trepidation.

Carmen Pereira didn't disappoint. Opening the door herself, unsuspecting, she gasped and burst into tears at the sight of her prodigal son, throwing her arms around him and holding him tightly. Javier, his own tears starting, silently hugged her back as he had done at the restaurant months before, while Letty stood patiently by, smiling at them both.

"Lo siento, Mama," he finally choked out. "I'm sorry for everything – " but she cut him off.

"Hush. None of that matters now. You're home." She stepped back, and then took his face with both hands and pulled it down to kiss his forehead. "You're home," she repeated, her smile shining through her tears. Catching sight of Letty then, Carmen turned and held out both hands. "Letty, no? Ava told me you are married now. I'm sorry," she switched to broken English with the last words, "I do not speak good English."

"No es nada," Letty replied, taking her mother-in-law's hands and returning her smile. "Hablo un poco español ahorra." And the rest of the day was spent in that language.

"But her accent is atrocious." Javier, still trying to find his emotional balance, teased.

"It's not atrocious, it's Mexican," Letty's usual reply to their habitual exchange was delivered with a long-suffering air, then she added, "Pampas rat!" and was rewarded with his laughter.

So it was with a bit of levity that Javier reentered his boyhood home – and came face-to-face with one angry woman.

"What is _he_ doing here?" she spat at Carmen.

"I invited him! It is his home!" his mother was affronted.

"Sofia, do you have a problem with me?" Javier asked levelly, and then Letty placed her: Sofia, Carlos' wife – his widow.

"I have a problem with the fact that you are alive, while my husband is dead!" she said with real venom – real pain.

"It wasn't my fault," he began to protest, even though he had never rid himself of the guilt. He should _never_ have left his young, innocent brother to watch that snake Teo. But she wasn't listening anyway.

"I cannot stay under this roof while he is here. I'm going to a hotel," she informed her mother-in-law. "Let me know when he is gone." And with that, she grabbed a ring of keys from the bowl on the table by the door and stormed out. A moment later, they heard a car start up and wheels screech out of the driveway.

"I apologize for her inexcusable rudeness," Carmen began, but Letty shook her head.

Realizing her Spanish wasn't up to this task, she switched to English and said to Javier to translate, "If our situations were reversed, I'd be feeling the same way."

"That is very understanding of you," Carmen said graciously, then swept the pair on into the living room as if they were honored guests rather than family. Javier and Letty sat side-by-side on a large, stiffly-formal couch diagonally from Carmen in an upholstered chair.

Letty stayed out of the conversation for the next several minutes, letting her husband and his mother catch up. But after a few exchanges, she began noticing something strange: Javier kept trying gently to talk about the past, but each time, Carmen would brush it off, speaking instead of her daughters (and daughters-in-law), their families, or asking about Javier's and Letty's plans for the future – in Buenos Aires, of course, she assumed.

Finally, Javier gave up and just stared at his mother. "Are we not going to talk about any of it, then, Mama?" he asked quietly.

"Any of what?" she was perplexed, or at least put on a good act.

"The past. Papa. David. Carlos, me, Santino. What Papa did. What _I've_ been doing. Anything?"

"Why should we talk about the past? It's over. Nothing can change it. It's done."

"No," Letty couldn't help but put in, though she tried to do it as gently as Javier, "but talking about things can smooth rough edges and ease the pain. I know."

Javi squeezed her hand in appreciation, but Carmen huffed. "I do not need life lessons from you, chica," came her offended reply.

Letty drew breath to retort, but Javi squeezed her hand again, silencing her. "Mama, _please_ ," he began again, pleading. "I _need_ you to acknowledge what has happened. I was kicked out of the family completely – nobody even _talked_ to me for two decades. I'm hurting, Mama. Deeply. I _need_ you to acknowledge this." Letty squeezed his hand in return – she knew what it cost her Latino husband to come out and say it, even after the months of practice opening up to her. She heard a distant echo in her mind, recognizing it as her own voice: _Can you just act like a human being for two minutes, Mom?_

But his mother wasn't listening. She stared stony-faced at the piano in the corner, saying nothing.

Unable to stay silent herself, Letty drew breath to open fire, but Javi heard her and squeezed her hand again, shaking his head, and she let it out with an exasperated huff. Javier gave a bitter laugh. "Of course. I should have known better," he said to the air before turning back to Carmen. "You've ignored so many things, your whole life, for the sake of your fine home, your fancy car, no job, your big family. Why should this be any different? Where is your family now, Señora?" Letty noticed the switch in names.

" _You_ are my family!" Carmen said emphatically, but Javi shook his head again.

"No. I'm not," he said, very softly. "I haven't been your family for twenty-three years, five months, and sixteen days." Shocked, Letty registered his knowing the _exact_ numbers. "You can't ignore that away. You can't wave a magic wand and make a lifetime of pain just disappear. People don't work that way. _I_ don't work that way." He paused again, hoping for a reaction, but she had jerked back around to staring at the piano. He gave it one more shot. "Mama, I _want_ to have a relationship with you again, but you have to be willing to _talk_ to me, to acknowledge the past. I'm not painting myself as the only victim – or even just a victim – but if we can't talk about it, and all the pain it caused – for everyone – then there is nothing to build a relationship _on."_

Javier waited, the clock in the hallway ticking away suddenly loud in the silence. A full minute passed, but Carmen never budged, never even glanced at her son. At last, he looked away from his mother to the fireplace opposite, as if he couldn't stand to ever look at her again. Taking a deep breath and then letting it out, he nodded and stood, pulling Letty up beside him.

That got Carmen's attention. "Where are you going?" she demanded, halfway between imperious and piteous.

"I am going to show my wife the house where I grew up, and then we are leaving," Javier replied levelly, still not looking at her.

"Not before lunch!" Carmen replied, bouncing back as if nothing at all had changed. She stood, beaming at her son and his wife. "Maria may not be a fine private chef like you, but she can still make a delicious lunch. I'll go help her put it on the table. It will be ready in ten minutes!" And with that, she sailed grandly out of the room.

Javier was still staring at the far wall. He blew his breath out with a short, bitter laugh. Letty squeezed his hand. "Babe, let's just go," she implored him, switching to English. At that moment, she didn't want Spanish to touch her tongue.

"No," his reply startled her, but then he turned. "Please. Just five minutes. _I_ want to see it – one last time." Understanding then, she nodded acquiescence.

He led her around through the downstairs, avoiding the kitchen with its female chatter and sound of plates and pots. The back wall of what he called the family room – an enormous space filled with varied groups of comfortable-looking furniture that stretched across the entire back of the house – was completely made of glass windows overlooking the promised spectacular view of the city. Javier, though, focused on something a bit closer at hand.

"Whoa!" he said. _"That's_ new!"

"What?"

"The pool!" Opening one of the french doors, he pulled her out onto the wide stone patio and across to the low wall. A few steps below, a huge, pristine, designer swimming pool filled the entire rest of the back yard, surrounded by concrete, potted palms, and statues. "We had a yard to play in," he went on. "Nothing but grass from here to the fence. We played football, tennis, tag out here, every day!" You'd have to play water polo, now.

"I like it," Letty commented. "It's gorgeous."

"Yeah, it is that," he admitted, then looked at her sideways, sardonically. "I wonder if it's ever used."

"I'd use it," she whispered conspiratorially. "Every day."

There it was: that sexy half-smile. "I know you would. Some day," his wink made it a promise.

"I'm gonna hold you to that, mister."

Back inside, they started towards the front door, then Javier turned to the impressive freestanding staircase, stopping with his foot on the bottom step. Letty couldn't quite read his face. Then he glanced at his hand resting on the wide, curved banister, winked the other way at Letty, tipped his head at the banister and whispered impishly, "Good slide!"

"I can _so_ see you doing that – every day!" His quiet laugh carried him up the stairs, though it had dribbled away by the time they reached the top. He stopped, staring pensively at the closed door directly in front of them, then sighed, reached out, turned the knob and pushed the door open.

"This was your room?" Letty guessed, and he nodded.

"Mine and David's. He'd moved out by then, but I still had some of his school stuff." Not any more. Not a single personal item remained in the room – it was as pristine and emptily impersonal as a hotel room.

Heaving another weary sigh, Javier reached out and pulled the door closed again, before turning as if to go back down the stairs. But then he caught sight of something down the hall. Eyes widening, he dropped her hand unconsciously and walked stiffly towards it as if pulled by a magnet. Letty looked, breathed "oh, no!", and followed.

It was a photo gallery. At least fifty family photos of all sizes and styles were arranged on the upstairs hallway wall around one huge formal shot of Javier's parents, and more were spread across the top of the low table below. Letty watched her husband's profile as his eyes swept up and around and down, quickly inspecting each one. She didn't have to ask or look; his darkening face and clenching jaw told her: not one held his own image. Not a single one.

Finally, his gaze came to rest on a larger picture standing in an ornate scrolled metal frame on the table. He reached a trembling hand to touch one corner, and Letty peered at it too. It was a formal shot of the whole family, a younger Carmen and Oscar surrounded by children of all ages. And at one end... a single form had been carefully cut out, erased from the family as if he had never existed.

Letty saw red at the insult. She didn't dare peek at Javier; his heavy, ragged breathing beside her told of his fury and distress. Suddenly he knocked the frame over, sending it face-down with a crash and tinkle of broken glass. But then he saw the one which had been hidden behind it. His breath catching in a sob, he reached out and tenderly picked it up to stare at it. Letty glimpsed a young, beautiful boy of perhaps six, in what looked like a school picture pose, grinning broadly at the camera. It had to be Santino.

His face twisting in anguish, Javier turned the frame over and broke it open, pulled out the picture and dropped the frame on the table. He cradled the photo for a moment with both hands, then opened his jacket and slipped it carefully into the inner pocket.

Letty put her hand on his arm. "Babe... _enough._ Let's _go."_

Javier finally nodded. "Yeah." He stared at his father's and mother's smiling, happy faces in the big portrait for a moment with something like hatred on his own. "This was a _huge_ mistake." His low voice was ragged.

"Yeah. But you couldn't have known that without coming. Don't beat yourself up for hoping – it's what keeps us alive."

He looked at her at last, pain oozing from his eyes. It was going to take a _very_ long time before this trip and its revelations could be smoothed over in his heart – if it ever could. Glancing down again, he picked her hand up and held it, turning with her back towards the stairs. By the time they reached the bottom, he'd managed to get a hold of himself again. And it was a good thing he had, because when they turned towards the front door, they discovered Carmen talking to one of the three men now standing in the foyer, a man who turned to greet Javier with an oily, falsely exuberant smile that sent shivers down Letty's spine. Not always the best snap judge of character, she nevertheless despised and distrusted this man on sight.

"Javier! My boy! You have come home at last! Welcome back!" The man stepped across the foyer, arms flung wide, and threw them around Javi to hug him, while Javi stood stiffly, not moving. When the man stepped back again, a little awkwardly but trying to cover it with his fake smile, Javi just stared, his face purpling again with barely-suppressed fury.

"Tio Jorge," he hissed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"I should have known you'd be here," Javier ground out between clenched teeth. After the hour he had just lived through, he felt like he was about to burst through his skin and explode outward in all directions. Letty was standing close behind his shoulder, clutching his left hand in both of hers. He could hear her ragged breathing and knew she was afraid. He set one corner of his mind to concentrating on the feeling of her hands around his, anchoring him inside himself and in the world.

"Why should I not be at my dear sister-in-law's house?" his uncle Jorge returned, all wounded innocence. If he wasn't such a bad actor, the scene would have been surreal. "Why should I not welcome my dear nephew home?"

"Why _should_ you? How did you know I was here?" _Stupid question,_ he thought, even as Carmen confirmed it.

"I called him! He asked me to!"

"Did he also ask you to get me here?" He couldn't look at her, keeping his eyes on his uncle. She denied it, but her slight hesitation – and the tiny quirk at the corner of Jorge's mouth – put the lie to her denial. Javier mentally dismissed her, concentrating on the man before him. He was so hurt and angry that he was struggling to think straight, but there was great danger here, that he had to extricate himself and his wife from as fast as possible. He tried to cut through the fog. "What do you want?"

Unlike his father had been, Jorge was only an inch shorter than Javier, but still tried to make up for it with thick heels and carrying himself as tall as he could. Lifting his chin another notch and smiling in a failed attempt to seem genial and avuncular, he lifted his left hand to put it on Javier's shoulder, but his nephew knocked it away with a lightning-quick swing. Carmen gasped as the temperature of the room dropped several degrees.

The smile stayed on Jorge's lips, but fled from his cold blue eyes. "I only wish to welcome you, nephew. We are the only men left in the family – we must stick together, and look after the women."

"Like you 'stuck' to me the last time we met? I expected you to have me killed."

Jorge's eyes flickered at Carmen for an instant. "I don't know what you mean."

So he didn't want her to know, eh? Javi didn't give the tiniest little fuck about that. "Bullshit. I was hanging by my arms from the ceiling, was used as a punching bag, and then you interrogated me about the – "

Jorge rode over him before he could say "cocaine" – "That wasn't by my orders. I only asked to have you found, so we could talk. I had no idea they had mistreated you like that."

"Bullshit again. You weren't surprised, and you didn't cut me down until I asked."

Letty's eyes were snapping back and forth between them, feeling she was falling down a rabbit hole. Javier hadn't told her _all_ the details of what he'd been through, apparently. She didn't understand every word of their rapid Spanish, but got enough of it to follow. She knew she could offer nothing at the moment but silent support for Javier. But she was ready to jump into action – all she needed was a sign of what he wanted her to do.

Carmen couldn't believe her ears. "Jorge, is what he is saying true? Did you – "

"Silence, woman!" Jorge's congenial mask slipped. Carmen gaped at her brother-in-law, then snapped her mouth shut, sniffing in offense. That was as much as she dared.

Javier's lips curled in what might have been a smile. "Cut the crap, uncle. What do you want?"

Jorge paused for a moment, considering options, then went for Sincere. "Just what I said. We should stick together. There is a business to run, our family's business, that requires many hands to keep sailing smoothly. And with your... special talents... you could be a very great help to me in solving certain... problems that have arisen."

Ah. There it was. He wanted a hitman. And he thought he could get Javi to do his bidding, cheap, by relying on family ties and cutting him into the business.

"And why should I help you, after what you have done? Was Teo working for you?"

It was a stab in the dark, to see his uncle's reaction. Jorge denied it instantly, without hesitation, though, and Javier decided the denial _might_ be true, and that Jorge had only stepped in and picked up the pieces after Teo went rogue. Maybe. Not that he really cared one way or the other.

Time to end this. "No," Javier said flatly. "Not interested." He started to step around Jorge to reach the door, pulling Letty along with him, but his uncle quickly sidestepped, blocking the way. A snap of Jorge's fingers sent the other two men in the room, whom Javier and Letty had been ignoring until then, into motion. One stepped in front of the door, while the other one moved swiftly to stand behind Letty's other shoulder. His hands were empty, hanging loosely by his side, but the butt of a gun could be seen under his arm through his open jacket.

Letty gasped slightly and edged even closer to her husband, away from the goon. She didn't like his mean, hungry look _at all_. Javi took it in as well, glaring levelly at the man, then turned back to Jorge with venom in his eyes.

His uncle apparently decided to continue pretending they were all one big, happy family. "Javier, please. At least hear what I have to say. Allow me to show you around the city – so much has changed since you left, no? Let me show you the business, too. And we will talk. Eh? One afternoon. Some sightseeing, some dinner..." He spread his hands invitingly. "I know you must have missed our fine restaurants." His eyes lit up, as though a thought had just occurred to him. "We will put your wife in a hotel, where she can be comfortable, and talk business. She wouldn't be interested in such things. Hmm?" He did a creditable job of making it seem like a friendly invitation, even as his henchmen's guns and alert stances – and his own blocking the way – made the opposite obvious.

"There is no need for a hotel," Carmen broke in again, all gracious hostess now. "Letty can stay here, with me, and we can become acquainted!"

Javier couldn't decide whether she was truly ignorant of the subtext, or just acting like it. But Letty was having none of it. "I'm not staying here with you, bitch!" she said sharply, unable to keep it inside.

"How _dare_ you – " Carmen began hotly, but was silenced when her son jerked his head around to stare her down. She had never seen such anger in his face. Her mouth snapped shut yet again, and she turned her head sharply to stare out the front window.

"As I said," Jorge put in smoothly. "We will put her in a hotel. Manny," this to the goon behind Letty, "take the Señora to the Pines."

It was a low-priced, bland hotel chain – one was nearby. Javi blinked at his uncle's cheapness – and then he saw their way out. It would take both of them working in concert, but he had no fears on that score.

"No," he said flatly, a little loud to get Jorge's attention, then continued as if talking to a toddler. "No, no, nonononono." Jorge – and everyone else – was staring at him now, and he adopted a reasonable tone, just this side of sarcastic. "If you want to convince me to join you – or even simply... hire my services... then you are going to begin by treating my wife with the care and respect she deserves." He paused to make the point. "A suite. At the Palisades."

Jorge goggled. "The _Palisades?"_

Javier confirmed it with a wolf's smile. "A suite," he repeated. "And then we'll talk," he added, dangling the bait.

Jorge was taken aback, and a little disgusted, but then caved. "Fine," he said, matching Javier's 'reasonableness'. "Take her to the Palisades," he amended his order to Manny. Then he turned the other way to Carmen. "He'll need your car. Give him the keys," he ordered his sister-in-law flatly.

She was outraged at his imperious tone, but helpless, and she knew it. She was standing next to the entrance table, so she simply reached for her keys in the bowl atop it and slapped them in Jorge's outstretched hand without a word. He tossed them on to Manny.

While this was going on, Javier turned to Letty, surprising her by grabbing her possessively around the waist. "It's a very fine hotel, the best in the city," he told her in English. "Just the kind you like, that I owe you a stay in." Then he winked at her as he added, "Have fun, Sugar."

She blinked at his use of their code word, but recovered smoothly. "Thank you, Sugar, Ah will," she replied evenly, slipping unconsciously into her broadest southern drawl. _Message received._

He smiled his sexy half-smile in response. She gasped as he abruptly pulled her roughly to his chest, and he took advantage of her open mouth by claiming it with a conspicuously wet, passionate kiss. Then he abandoned her mouth to plant devouring kisses on her jawline and neck before whispering something in her ear. Letty gave a throaty laugh, murmuring Mmm-hmmm, then when he pulled back with a smile, she rewarded him with her smokiest look. "See you later, Sugar," she purred, motor definitely running.

Then Letty turned towards Manny with a disgusted look. "No, not you," she declared, still in English with the same drawl. "You're too ugly. You," she pointed her chin at the other, younger, handsomer – and dumber-looking – henchman at the door. "You can keep me company." Then she sashayed to the front door as he sprang to open it for her, and walked out onto the porch, knowing several sets of eyes were glued to her outrageously swaying hips.

The younger man gulped air at his boss, who sighed and shrugged dramatically. "Fine. Give Ricky the keys," he told Manny, who tossed them with sour regret to his compatriot. Ricky caught them and turned to go out the door, stopping suddenly before he ran into Letty, who had turned to stare imperiously at him. She glanced deliberately down at their two suitcases, still sitting on the porch, then back at him, eyebrows raised high. Ricky scrambled to pick them up and followed her down the steps.

Javier grinned at her back before turning back to confront Jorge again, leaving the smile in place. She was going to be just fine.

"Now, shall we go for a ride?" his uncle asked, but Javi shook his head.

"First make the reservation. And pay for it."

Sighing with exasperation, Jorge dug his smart phone out of his pocket, thumbed it unlocked, and tossed it to Manny before returning to his staring contest with Javier while they waited.

Javi was suddenly enjoying himself. They'd just snatched the upper hand, and proved it, even if his uncle was too stupid to realize it. _There's a reason Papa was in charge of the family,_ he thought. _He was ten times smarter – and more ruthless – than you ever were, or could be._ Now it was just a matter of playing it out.

Manny announced he was finished, and started to toss the phone back, but Javi stopped him. "Text the reservation to Ricky."

Jorge nodded, then added, "And Miguel. Tell him to take the bags there – I'm tired of looking at them."

His eyebrows twitched in puzzlement at that cryptic reference, but then Javi let it go. Whatever it was, Letty could handle it. He had complete confidence in her.

A moment later, those messages were sent, and the phone tossed back to Jorge, who locked it and stuffed it back in his pocket. "Now?" he asked Javier with sour, weary courtesy.

"Of course," he replied with the same tone. But he didn't move immediately. Instead, he looked levelly at Carmen. "Goodbye, Mama," he said after a moment, _then_ turned and walked out the door of his boyhood home for the last time.

Carmen said nothing, ignoring his tone of finality, but as he passed the porch, she muttered under her breath, "You'll be back." It was a prediction, albeit a sour one. That's how it was in Carmen's world. Men – even sons – snarled and snapped, and some of them hit. But they always came back.

She turned on her heel as the door closed behind the three men, and walked with stiff dignity into the dining room, where she ate Maria's delicious lunch all alone, ignoring the empty chairs as Maria silently removed the extra plates.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

The only good thing he could say about his uncle, Javier decided, sitting in the back seat of Jorge's Range Rover, was that he had good taste in cars. Manny was driving them around the "tourist route" as Jorge, sitting beside Javi in the back, gave a running commentary, alternating between the sights and the "family business". Javi simply stared out the window, not replying, waiting for him to get to the point.

The business was exports, of course – not all of them illegal. The Pereiras had always been minor players in the great, tangled chain of companies that sent Argentina's beef, wheat, and produce around the world. The more... interesting plant substances and derivatives had been a recent addition under Javi's father, Oscar. The difficulty was that Argentina didn't produce cocaine herself, but had to import it from elsewhere in South America before selling it locally or – more prominently – shipping it onwards to Europe and Asia. Teo's big idea had been to try to break into the lucrative US market in a small way, via Ava's restaurant. After Teo's... "disappearance" (Jorge pronounced the word with uncharacteristic delicacy, while Javi shifted uncomfortably), Jorge had shut that venture down as he took over the company from his late brother.

"So what's the problem?" Javi broke into the monologue, bored. "What do you need my help with?"

Jorge glanced at his nephew, annoyed at the interruption, then answered. The problem, it seemed, was with the supply. There was a very irritating middleman involved, and Jorge thought he could do better if he dealt directly with the source. He even knew who that was. But the middleman, whom he called "Juan Perez" (making Javi snort – the name was the rough equivalent of "John Smith" in the US), refused to go away, and promised retribution if cut out.

"And so that's where I come in?" Javi asked mildly.

"Exactly," beamed his uncle. He turned and began to direct Manny to a new location.

"Wait," Javier broke in. He pointed at Manny's back. "Lose the ears." At Jorge's puzzled look, he added, "You don't want to give him ideas, do you?"

"Will you drive the car?" was Jorge's surprising response. "I don't drive."

Javier gaped at him for a moment, then shook his head and shrugged. "Sure, I'll drive. But only if you move up front. I'm not your fucking chauffeur."

.

.

Letty was seething inside, doing her best to maintain an icy calm facade. She sat in the big easy chair in the elegant Presidential Suite in the Palisades, staring straight ahead, sipping on a glass of wine – she'd hit the minibar first thing. "Have fun," Javi had told her with a wink, knowing _exactly_ what "fun" entailed in the context of a fancy hotel. And she was itching to get started. But first, she had to get out of this prison cell of a suite, and ditch her babysitter – or enlist him. She quickly glanced sideways at Ricky's profile, as he sat on the couch watching some stupid game show on TV – at least he'd turned the volume down at her request.

God, how she wanted a cigarette. She hadn't had one since LA, first because none were available throughout the crisis. When she finally realized she could get some, at the plantation, she made the decision to stay quit, with Javi's help and encouragement – and distraction. But he wasn't here now, and she was fighting the worst cravings she'd had yet. The suite was strictly nonsmoking, a fact which had never stopped her before, but now she clung to the prohibition like a lifeline. Thinking of Javier, she pulled her Mexican prepaid phone out of her pocket – but of course, it claimed no reception here in Argentina. They hadn't taken the time on the way to the mansion to stop and get them adjusted, or get local phones. Letty sighed and slipped it back into her pocket.

Turning her mind forcefully back to the problem, she glanced at Ricky again. _Ditch him... or enlist him._ She started to take another sip of wine, and then stopped with the glass at her lips as the thought hit. _Or both..._

Just then, a knock came at the door. Ricky glanced at Letty, catching her imperious eyebrow lift, and guiltily scrambled up to answer it. The man was not dressed in a hotel employee uniform, but Ricky seemed to know him. She didn't catch what was said as the stranger pulled two large suitcases into the room, shook Ricky's hand, and left. Ricky simply came back to the couch and said nothing.

Letty peered at the bags – they looked somehow familiar. She got up and went over to them – definitely familiar, though she couldn't immediately place them. She pushed one over on its side, knelt down, and opened it – and gasped, poking through familiar designer women's clothes and jewelry, and wigs and shoes, all jumbled together. Grabbing the other bag and opening it, too, she found more familiar clothing, men's this time, then twisted around to stare at Ricky.

"These are _our_ things – from Los Angeles!"

Ricky shrugged. "They've been in the boss's office for months. He told Miguel to bring them here." He went back to laughing at the TV show.

 _How the hell did they get here?_ Letty stared at the wall, figuring it out. Tomás or Juan, or both, or all three with his other silent goon, must have gone to their hotel room while she and Javi were knocked out and cleaned it all out. And Jorge must have picked the bags up when he visited Tomás and questioned Javi – wherever that was – and brought it back here.

Well. However it happened, this was a gift from the gods she had _no_ intention of ignoring. Standing again, she pulled them one at a time into bedroom, ignoring Ricky's smirk, and lifted them onto the king bed alongside the smaller ones they had brought from Mexico. Then she stalked back into the living room, picked up her glass of wine and grabbed another bottle from the minibar, and stepped back to bedroom, announcing, "I'm going to take a bath." She stopped at the door and pointed at Ricky. _"You_... are _not_ watching." At his disappointed and slightly panicked look, she added, "Oh, what am I going to do, crawl out the window? We're thirty floors up, and you've got the only balcony." With that, she slammed and locked the door, pulling a straight-backed chair under the knob for good measure.

Then she turned, went into the bathroom, and opened the taps in the tub. Time for a good long soak.

.

.

They had dropped Manny off in front of a hotel, where he could get a taxi to wherever he was going, and switched seats. Jorge was directing Javier to one of the company's warehouses, this one down on the docks, where the coke was stored waiting for transit. (Javi thought that was a bit foolish – why keep the stuff in one place for any length of time where it could be found in a raid – but what did he know?)

"It's good timing that you are here today – so is Juan Perez. You could take care of it now."

"So what did you have in mind?"

What Jorge had in mind was a big, showy, public hit on the man as he sat down to dinner at his hotel, Javier walking in and simply blowing him away. Jorge would supply the gun, of course, he added magnanimously.

Javi whipped the wheel over, screeching to a loud stop at the side of the busy street, ignoring the furious honks of the cars right behind him as they swerved and passed. He gaped at Jorge. "Are you a fucking idiot? Or just insane?"

"What? What's wrong with that? It's how things are done here. And everyone would know that I did it. I would be respected."

"Oh my god," Javi muttered, wiping his face with his hand. He sat stunned for a moment, shaking his head. "That's not a hit," he finally said. "That's a suicide mission. And that is _not_ what I do."

"What do you mean?" Jorge demanded huffily.

"Whoever did that would get blown away, by the cops if not his own bodyguards. Does he have bodyguards?"

"Just one, more of an assistant, and he's new," replied Jorge. "You can handle him, too."

"No, I'm not," Javi almost spluttered. "You're not listening. When I do a job, nobody even knows it was a murder. I make it look like an accident, or natural causes. And if that's not possible, then I get rid of the body. That's how I live to do it again another day. I'm not wanted _anywhere._ " _As far as I know,_ he added to himself. "You want somebody to do it your way, you get somebody else," he ended flatly. He half hoped Jorge would take him up on that – there was no way his uncle would be able to find a hitman without unknowingly hiring a cop, instead. _That would take care of things nicely._

.

.

By the time the wine was finished, the bubbles had all popped, and the water was just before too cool, Letty had worked it all out, examined the plan from all angles, and decided it was good. She got out, dried off, put on some underwear and got to work.

First, she pulled out the big rectangular black quilted leather bag she always used for such jobs, and then another, slightly smaller one that fit neatly inside the first. She could pack an _amazing_ amount of things into either of them without any telltale bulges.

Then she carefully chose several of her and Javi's best and favorite outfits, ones of lightweight material so they folded as small as possible. She rolled each item up around the best of the stolen jewelry from LA, then fit them into the smaller bag. Then she added their wallets and watches, which had also been tossed in the big suitcases, and the envelope with their precious marriage certificate. Javier had both of their new (fake) passports. A short, curly black wig went next, wrapped in tissue. And a particular print dress, which needed only a scarf – _that_ one – to look great. Last of all, after she used it, she put in her small, efficient makeup kit. She couldn't fit any shoes in, so she'd have to make do with a single pair of strappy black heels that went with nearly anything. She slipped the smaller bag into the larger one, put them on her shoulder, and checked in the mirror to make sure it still looked empty. It did. God, she loved that bag.

Then she got dressed, pulling on a mid-length, short-sleeved, loose dress of ivory silk. A wide navy blue belt and matching navy blue three-quarter-sleeved jacket went on top. She tucked another long rose-pink scarf into the jacket pocket, making sure it didn't show.

She checked her makeup: smokey eye shadow and liner; outrageous, attention-getting false eyelashes; and bright candy-apple-red lipstick; never any foundation or blush. One last touch: pulling her hair back into a pony tail, she tucked it up and pulled on her very favorite platinum blonde wig, straightened it out and fluffed it with her fingers. Twirling slowly before the full-length mirror, she check herself out from all angles, smiled happily, then puckered a kiss at her reflection. She was ready.

.

.

Javier finally got Jorge to mentally calm down enough to ask about his, Javier's, usual methods, and explained about the heart-attack-in-a-syringe. Yes, he could get the ingredients at any drugstore, without a prescription, including the syringes themselves. No, it wasn't traceable, the drugs disappeared before any autopsy was done. How much of that was lies, Javier never let on. He was very used to leading nervous clients on. "Then you just get the target alone, do the injection – the neck is best and easiest to get to – and watch him fall at your feet."

"How long does it take them to die?" Jorge was morbidly fascinated.

"Only a few seconds. There's no time even to scream. They're dead before they realize what's happening."

"How would you get Juan Perez alone?"

Javier shook his head. "That's _your_ problem. You're setting this up."

Jorge thought it over, screwing up his forehead. "I could tell him there's a problem with the shipment in the warehouse – some of it isn't pure enough – or it's completely fake. He must come inspect it and make it right."

Javi judged the time was right to play the next card. "You know," he began thoughtfully, "you really don't want me to do this."

Jorge was taken aback. "What do you mean? Of course I do!"

"No, you don't. You want to do it yourself." He paused. "That was the one thing Papa had over you, that he had killed, so many times, and you never have. Isn't it?" Jorge looked away, and Javi pressed him. "Have you ever killed someone, Tio Jorge?"

"No," he finally admitted.

"Well, if you do this, if you take care of Juan Perez, then you could stand up and be proud, even beside Papa's memory. Nobody could take that from you. And everybody would know you had done it – because you would let them know, quietly. Just the ones that matter – then word would get around. Jorge Pereira is no one to mess with. They would respect you."

He watched as Jorge soaked that in, lifting his head proudly. _Santa Maria, how stupid are you?_ he thought, never letting it show on his face.

.

.

Letty set the bag down by the door into the living area, removed the chair from under the knob, and dramatically flung the door wide, leaning on the frame with a hand on her hip. Ricky glanced, did a classic double-take, and scrambled ungracefully to his feet, panic written all over his face. He was practically screaming _Who the hell are you?_

"Oh, stop it, honey, it's only me," she drawled. They had established that he spoke some English, and she pretended to know only a little Spanish. "Haven't you ever heard of a wig?"

As it dawned on Ricky, hearing her voice, that it was indeed the same woman, he calmed down immediately and stepped back, giving her an appreciative once-over. "Let's go down to the bar and have a drink," she suggested.

"We're supposed to stay in the suite," he began, but she cut him off.

"We're _supposed_ to stay in the _hotel._ Oh, for pete's sake, I couldn't get away from you looking like this! You could see me half a mile away! And so can everyone else." She gave him a significant look. "Every single person down there is going to be wondering, 'what the hell is _she_ doing with _him?'_ "

She let that sink in, watching him lift his head proudly, then tossed the next breadcrumb. "Unless you're too afraid of your boss..." she shrugged and looked towards the glass door onto the balcony. As scripted, Ricky immediately jumped to denial. She decided to prick him some more. "Or... don't you have enough money for a couple of drinks – and maybe some food?" she added, remembering the abandoned lunch at Carmen's.

Of course he did, he said disdainfully. He had lots of money. He wanted to scowl at her, but she was too gobsmackingly pretty.

"Well, then, let's go!" Letty said brightly. She picked up her bag and swung it nonchalantly over her shoulder, turned towards the front door, and held out her hand to him. Ricky smoothed back his hair with both hands, stepped up gallantly, offered her his arm, and off they went.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Tio Jorge watched closely as Javier mixed the contents of three different vials of medicine and then loaded the mixture into a syringe. Javi had driven to several different big drug stores, dividing the shopping list and buying more items as well, so as not to arouse suspicion. His haul included his usual items of garbage bags and duct tape, just in case; latex gloves, cookies, toothpaste, a box of syringes, foot powder, non-medicated saline eye drops – and of course, gummi bears. He grinned at one register when he spied a box of imported candy – Mike and Ike; and picked up a box for Letty.

Now they were at last in the warehouse on the docks, and making preparations. Javi carefully capped the syringe with a red cover and put it in his inside pocket. Then he picked up another one and filled it from the eye drops, piercing right through the side of the little plastic bottle. "Why are you doing that?" asked Jorge, fascinated.

"Practice," Javi replied cryptically, then elaborated. "For you to practice giving the shot with. It can be tricky if you've never done it before." Jorge scoffed. He didn't need to practice such an easy thing. "You're certain? Okay..." And Javi put a blue cap on that one, adding it to his pocket. "I'll dispose of it later, with the rest of the garbage." He kept his latex gloves on for the moment – telling Jorge that he didn't want to get any of the medicine on his hands.

He insisted on going over the plan, step by step. Jorge had already called Juan Perez with his story of bad drugs, insisting that he come to put things right. He would be there, he said, in an hour. Jorge would take Juan back inside the warehouse, leaving Javi in the front half with Perez' associate. "You will take care of him, right?" Javi nodded. Jorge would open one of the crates, invite Juan to look, and then just lean over and zap! He mimed giving the jab overhand, pushing the imaginary plunger with his thumb. Easy.

"That's good," approved Javier. "Keep things simple. Elaborate plots always go wrong." He paused. "What if he goes for his gun?"

"I have my pistol right here," Jorge replied, opening his jacket to show the gun in its shoulder holster. Javi gave him props for it being a reasonable size, not one of those macho monsters timid men usually liked. "I have practiced at the range, many times – I can draw as quick as one of your American cowboys." Javi forbore correcting him on any of that, though he rolled his eyes. He turned then and began cleaning up the table.

.

.

Letty led Ricky to a booth at one side, sliding into the far seat and making him take the bench opposite. She wasn't going to let him sit next to her! They ordered drinks – Letty stuck to wine – and lunch from the bar menu. Slipping into her southern belle persona, she kept Ricky entertained and interested – and at arm's length – without promising there'd be anything more.

At one point, she excused herself to go to the ladies room, picking up her bag and sauntering down the aisle while he turned to watch – like everyone else. The restrooms were outside the bar, across the hotel hallway. And she lucked out: the door to the janitor's closet was inside the ladies room, and it wasn't locked. Breathing a sigh of relief, she pulled out the getaway bag from the larger one and stashed it unobtrusively behind the mops. Then she used the restroom for its intended purpose and returned to the table and her "date".

"Your husband should see you now!" he chortled at one point. "We should send him a picture!"

"Why not?" she replied gaily. So he pulled out his cell phone and held it out into the aisle, making both of them lean together across the table for the selfie. Letty rolled her eyes, then made a kissy face at the phone a la Marilyn Monroe – adding a closed, winking eye at the last second.

"What's his number?" Ricky asked, getting ready to text it. He'd had four scotch-and-sodas to Letty's two glasses of wine.

"He doesn't have a phone that works here," she reminded him. "You'll have to send it to Jorge to show him." So he did, giggling like a schoolboy.

.

.

Jorge's phone buzzed, and he pulled it out in annoyance, which changed to astonishment. "What the hell?" He looked more closely at the screen, then up at Javier. "This is your wife?" Turning the phone around, he showed him the picture.

Javi laughed out loud. The shot reminded him of the one she'd texted to him to show Ava all those months ago. The wink passed its intended message – she was doing her part. "She's just having fun – playing dress-up," he told Jorge with a shrug.

"And having drinks with another man? And you are okay with this?" His uncle's chauvinism was showing.

Javi lost all his humor at that implication. He stepped up and got right in Jorge's face. "I trust my wife completely," he said flatly. "She knows where the line is, and she'll never cross it. If your man thinks there will be anything more, he's in for a _very_ rude awakening."

.

.

After the plates were cleared away and Ricky ordered another round, Letty judged it was time. She let her eyes wander around the bar as if admiring the place – making sure, as she had since they sat down, to keep from turning her face too far – and sighed. "This is a real nice hotel," she mused. "God, I could make so much money here." Of course, he asked what she meant. "Don't you know what I am, Ricky? I'm a thief. I used to rob hotels like this every week, back in the states." She'd dropped her voice low, making him lean over to hear. "God, it'd be so easy to hit this place. There's _no_ security."

"What do you mean? There's cameras everywhere – there's one right up there," he added, pointing injudiciously up to the ceiling behind her head. She knew right where that camera was, of course – she'd spotted it before sitting down.

"I know," she purred. "See the light on it?"

Ricky lifted his face and peered muzzily right at the camera. "I don't see any light."

"That's what I mean, silly. It's not even on. _None_ of the cameras in this place are on – they're probably not even real cameras, just dummies to fool people."

He peered up again, then looked at her suspiciously. "How do you know?"

Letty rolled her eyes so he could see it this time. "Because I'm a professional, I know about these things. I've robbed _hundreds_ of hotels. They're all the same. They put in dummy cameras, and dummy alarms, and dress a couple of guys up as security guards, like that one," she pointed with her chin out the door of the bar, and he swiveled around to see the guard walk past. "But it's all for show. There's no _real_ security," she concluded, taking a sip of wine as if unconcerned, and waited for him to bite.

He bit. "So how would you rob this place?" His voice was just a touch too loud, and she shushed him. "You mean the front desk, or the rooms?"

"The rooms, of course. First, I'd pick the pocket of that guard to get his master key card, then... it's just like going shopping!"

"But how do we know which rooms to go into?" Letty noticed the switch in pronouns. The fish was hooked, he just didn't know it yet.

"Simple," she purred again. "You're going to go quietly ask the bartender which rooms these big spenders down here are in."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because I don't speak Spanish, remember? And he wouldn't tell me, anyway – I'm a girl." The man had definitely been admiring the view of their table, though.

"So why would he tell me? And just let us rob the place? He's not going to do that!"

"He would for ten percent, silly. They all do." Ricky still looked skeptical, so she sunk the hook in a bit further. "Look... just make like you're trying to impress me. He'll help a guy out."

So he did, swallowing the rest of his drink in a gulp and then sauntering up to the bar and engaging the bartender in quiet conversation for several minutes. Letty kept her face straight ahead, away from the camera.

Five minutes later, Ricky came back, quietly triumphant. She was almost afraid he'd announce it loudly to the whole bar, but he kept his wits about him enough to simply grin at her and tap his pocket.

She grinned back, picked up her big empty bag, and proceeded with phase two.

.

.

Jorge and Javier stood around the front room of the warehouse, waiting for Juan Perez and his assistant to show up. Jorge was getting more and more nervous, and Javier tried to keep him calmed down. He was going to give the whole game away if he cracked.

Finally, they heard a car pull up outside. "Give me the syringe!" Jorge hissed, and Javier pulled it out of his pocket and tossed it to him. Jorge stuffed it inside his own jacket just as the door opened.

Two men walked in, and the one in the lead began talking with Jorge, who managed to keep his wits and move Juan smoothly into the other room, leaving his "associate", as Juan called him, up front with Javier.

Javi didn't hear a word. His entire field of vision and hearing had instantly contracted, focused like a tight laser on the associate. He felt his blood beginning to boil as he stared across the room, seeing the man do a double-take, and then slowly a malicious, evil grin spread across the other, too-damned-familiar face.

Tomás.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Sadly for Tio Jorge, all did _not_ go as planned.

He lured the annoying middleman, Juan Perez, over to the crate with the lid already pried loose, and got him to open it and pull out the top bag of cocaine, preparing to test it himself, injudiciously turning his back partway on Jorge. Jorge reached casually into his jacket pocket, pulled out the syringe, pulled the cap off with his other hand – accidentally jabbing himself in the process – and then he stepped up behind Juan, reached around, and rammed the needle into the man's neck and pushed the plunger with his thumb, just as he'd envisioned.

Juan cried out, pushing his hand away violently and whirling around. "What the hell is going on? What are you trying to do? _Tomás!"_

Jorge backed away, smiling triumphantly – which rapidly changed over to confusion and then fear, as Juan continued to not fall dead. Instead, with a last glance at the door which steadfastly did not burst open to frame his associate, Juan pulled out his gun and fired it at Jorge while cursing him roundly. Unfortunately, he missed with the first shot, but kept on firing.

That miss gave Jorge enough time to react, pulling out his own gun and returning fire. The two of them continued firing even as they both fell away from each other. Jorge managed to score the fatal shot first, sending a bullet straight through Juan's black heart, and the other man collapsed onto his back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Jorge, propped up on one arm, couldn't stop himself. He kept firing and firing until he ran out of bullets, clicking the pin on air several times until it penetrated his pain-fogged brain that it was over.

Jorge collapsed against the wall and sat, gasping, watching his own blood spread slowly across the floor.

,

,

 _Two minutes earlier_

"So you survived, did you? You'll have to tell me how you managed that," Tomás was taunting Javier, who didn't bother answering. He stared stony-faced at his previous jailer, assailant, and would-be assassin.

A wordless cry came from the other room, and then they heard Juan call out Tomás' name. That man whipped around, forgetting Javi, pulled his pistol out from his waistband at his back, and started at the run towards the door.

And Javier struck.

Launching himself across the room from a dead stop, he plowed into Tomás' back and rammed him against the wall, knocking his breath out. He grabbed the man's gun hand and slammed it repeatedly against the concrete until the gun dropped, then he kicked it away.

Using both hands, he grabbed Tomás and whirled him around, and then proceeded to whip the living daylights out of him, one corner of his mind automatically registering the fusillade of gunshots coming from the other room. Javier's fists pounded into face and torso again and again, smashing the helpless fury from the beating Tomás had given _him_ all those months before out through his fists. Tomás did try to defend himself, putting up his fists like a boxer and ineffectually jabbing and blocking, but he was no match for Javier's raw rage. The wall behind him wasn't helping, as he couldn't move away from it or Javi, and it prevented him from simply absorbing the punches.

Finally, with Tomás' face a bloody mess, Javier delivered the coup de grace: holding both of Tomás' shoulders, he rammed his knee into the other man's crotch as hard as he could. Tomás let out a surprisingly high-pitched scream and collapsed onto the cement floor, barely conscious, moaning with each fast, heaving, raw breath.

Javier stepped back and stared at the blank wall for several minutes, catching his own breath and calming his racing heart. Then, when he judged it had been long enough, he grabbed Tomás by his shirt and hauled him back to his feet, slamming him back against the wall again and holding him there with his forearm across the man's windpipe. He stared into Tomás pain-filled, rapidly blackening eyes for a full minute, his own face twisted and ugly with hate and rage.

When he was sure Tomás was with him again, he bobbed his head downwards and snarled. "That was for Letty. You remember Letty, don't you?"

"Yes," Tomás sobbed. He was guarding his ruined crotch with both hands, and didn't even think about restarting the fight. "Pretty girl," he commented hopefully through split lips and missing teeth.

"No, she's not," Javier hissed. "She's fucking _beautiful._ And you had _no fucking right_ to touch her!"

"I'm sorry – I'm sorry!" Tomás was crying now. "I'll never do it again, I swear."

"You're right. You won't. You will _never_... touch _any_ woman... with _out_ her consent... _ever_ again." Javier jammed his arm into Tomás' windpipe with each stressed word for emphasis.

Tomás blubbered agreement, never ever.

Javier continued staring into his eyes, feeling inside himself for his next move. Visualizing himself picking up the gun and putting it against his enemy's head, he hesitated, as Letty's face swam across his vision, her eyes filled with tears as she begged him to give up his profession. Finally, he knew he wouldn't do it.

He backed up several steps, watching as Tomás gasped through his now-clear throat. Stooping swiftly to scoop up the gun, he held it up sideways to show the other man. "This is for Letty, too. I'm not going to kill you – now. I'm going to go in there and clean it up, and when I come out... be gone. I won't come looking for you. But if I _ever_ see you again..." he left the threat unspoken.

Tomás nodded emphatically, not daring to believe yet that he would live. With a last disgusted look, Javier spun on his heel, cocked the pistol, held it before him with both hands, and went through the door.

,

,

Picking the security guard's pocket was as easy as it ever was. Letty pretended to stumble drunkenly as they passed him, pushing Ricky into the guard and making them all nearly fall. As she grabbed wildly to steady herself, her hand slipped into the pocket she'd seen him slip the master key card into a moment earlier and came up gold.

They stumbled on into the elevator, then Letty – suddenly perfectly balanced – turned to Ricky and showed him the card. She'd managed to rub both sides against her skirt, removing (she hoped) her fingerprints, and she handed it to him holding the edges.

He showed her the napkin in his pocket with a series of four room numbers. Up to the sixthteenth floor, and she told him on the ride how to call the hotel and ask for that room, to make sure it was empty. He followed her directions without comment, excited beyond both belief and caution. They got into the room, and she showed him how to make a proper, quick sweep. The next bit of unbelievable luck came with the in-room safe: it was one of the makes she knew, and the hotel had not changed the master passcode. Her jaw nearly hit the floor. Stuffing clothes, jewelry, cash and cards into the bag, she rushed Ricky back to the door.

"We should walk out separately," she told him in a whisper. He was beyond arguing. She walked out first, carrying the bag, and went quickly towards the elevators, holding her head down so her face hopefully wouldn't show on the cameras she knew damn well were all on. Moving as stealthily as she could, she pickpocketed her own bag and swiftly moved only the wad of cash into her dress pocket.

She figured they could do two rooms before the guards – alerted by the bartender who had set them up – caught up to them.

It took three.

Leaving the second room, she switched the order in which they left, sending Ricky out to the elevators first with the bag, then meeting him there after just enough seconds to be sure the guards weren't there. Down four more floors to the ninth and down the hall to the end, calling the operator, and into the third room. Letty was getting more and more nervous, but Ricky didn't notice, riding the alcohol buzz and the thieving high she desperately wished she was feeling. She sent him out first again – and nearly fainted with relief when she heard the guards coming just then out of the opening elevator yell at him to halt.

She scuttled out the half-open room door and managed to get next door to the stairs without them seeing her by hugging the wall. _UP, not down,_ she told herself, and she ran up two floors as fast as she could, ripping off the jacket and belt as she went. Kneeling on the landing for a moment, she spread out the jacket, pulled off her blonde wig and finger-combed her hair out, then wrapped the wig up in the jacket and stuffed the bundle under her now loose dress, till it resembled (if one didn't look _too_ closely) a baby bump. The belt she stuffed behind a convenient fire extinguisher. The rose-pink scarf went around her neck, subtly but definitely changing the look of her whole outfit as intended. Out into the hallway, she "waddled" as fast as she dared the entire length of the hall, head and shoulders slumped dejectedly to hide her face from the overhead cameras, holding her breath as she passed the elevators, which thankfully didn't so much as ding.

Down the stairwell on the other end of the building just as fast as she could – the image of a young Javier sliding down the banister at his home bringing a brief jealous smile to her face – then she paused on the ground floor landing to catch her breath and pull out the "baby bump" before calmly strolling out and around the corner to the ladies room.

Retrieving the getaway bag, she took it into a stall and changed into the print dress as fast as she could, stuffing the silk dress and jacket into the bag in its place. Thirty seconds at the sink and the outrageous eyelashes were gone, the red lipstick scrubbed off and replaced with muted coppery nude, and the black curly wig was on her head. Then she swung the bag onto her shoulder, and nonchalantly walked out through the bar and onto the side street.

The dress, jacket, and both wigs went into a random dumpster two blocks away (not without a pang – she LOVED that blonde wig) – and Letty turned on her heel and was gone.

.

.

The gun preceded Javier into the back room as he carefully stepped through the door. He caught a glimpse of Jorge propped up against the back wall, then swung around to verify that Juan was dead as a doornail, blood pooling beneath his sprawled body. Then he slipped the gun into the back of his waistband and turned towards Jorge, shaking his head mournfully as he stopped several feet away. His uncle had caught several bullets, and was very badly wounded.

"Help me!" Jorge choked out. "I can't move my legs!"

"Throw me your phone," Javier ordered. "I don't have one!" As his uncle shakily pulled his phone out of his pocket and made to toss it, he reminded him to unlock it with his thumb first. Catching the phone, he allowed his disgust to show on his face. "You know, I was right the first time. You are a fucking idiot." As Jorge gaped, confused, Javier went into the texts, found Letty's picture, and smiled at it again before deleting it. Then he dropped the phone on the floor and smashed the screen with his bootheel.

"What are you doing?" Jorge rasped out. Javier just looked at him. Another question – the big one – flashed. "Why didn't the drugs work? He didn't die!"

Javier reached into his pocket and pulled out the other syringe, showing it to Jorge. His uncle wasn't a _complete_ idiot, after all. "You switched the syringes!" he accused, and Javi smiled grimly and nodded confirmation.

Jorge lifted his pistol and pointed it at his nephew, pulling the trigger several times, but only clicks resulted. "You think I'm too stupid to count gunshots?" Javi asked him disgustedly. He tossed the needle into Jorge's lap.

"Why...?" He ran out of breath before finishing the question.

Javier looked him over appraisingly. "You know, those wounds aren't fatal. You'll be fine – if you get to a hospital in time." He acted as if it just occurred to him. "But you can't move, can you?" He smiled – falsely reassuring. "Don't worry. The police are on their way. They'll be sure to get you to a hospital – on the way to prison, for murder, trafficking... whatever else," he added, glancing casually around the room.

Jorge grasped at a straw. "The police aren't on their way!" he croaked, half hopeful.

Javier shot him a disappointed _you dipshit_ look, then turned and stepped lightly over to Juan, being very careful to avoid the blood, pulling another pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and putting them on. Squatting down, he stretched out a long arm and managed to fish out Juan's phone and unlock it with the dead man's thumb. Then he pulled out his gun again, and turned to look back at Jorge while he dialed the emergency number.

"What are – " But Javier shushed him, holding the gun on his lips like a finger.

The emergency operator answered, and Javier rasped out like a man in extreme pain, "Help me!", and then shot his gun into the air. Then he dropped the phone – call still active – on the floor next to Juan's hand, grinning as the operator shrieked "Señor! Señor!" and began calling in the response.

He stepped back over to Jorge, stopping just out of reach again, and leaned over to whisper to his uncle, far too softly to be caught by the phone, "Now they are." He paused, considering, then added, "Goodbye, Tio Jorge. Tell my father I said hello."

Then he scooped the smashed phone up and walked out the door, leaving Jorge staring down at the syringe full of the drugs that would kill him before the police arrived. There was no sign of Tomás, of course. He went out to the dock, heaving both phone and gun far out over the waves. Listening for a moment, he heard sirens start up in the distance. He climbed into Jorge's Range Rover, whipped it around, tires squealing, and then he gunned the motor, and he was gone. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Come on, come on, light, dammit!" Letty whispered to the careful pile of firewood, sticks, twigs, and crumpled paper – in descending order – that she was now holding the third match under.

She had flagged down a taxi a few blocks diagonally from the Palisades, and persuaded the driver – who luckily seemed used to kooky American tourists and their strange requests – to take her to a big outdoor sports store. There, she used her stolen wad of cash to first buy, and then change into, a proper foresty outfit of twill khaki pants and shirt with lots of pockets, lightweight hiking boots (and good socks); then she returned to the camping section and got a two-man tent, double sleeping bag, lantern, little camping stove, and cooking kit. The clerk, impressed by the size of her order, assisted her further by going online to the national park website and making a reservation for her, starting that very day.

She walked outside with her haul in a large cart, to find the same cabbie just turning back into the parking lot – he'd had a hunch about his pretty passenger. Sure enough, he had no problem taking her and her goods to her rather odd, distant destination.

She'd arrived safe, checked in, set up the tent and the bags, and now was attempting to light a campfire. "Meet me at Santino's park," Javier had whispered in her ear before sending her off with Ricky. She didn't know how long it would take him to get there, but she wanted to have a warm, cozy campsite set up.

"Come on, come on! Yes! _YES!"_ she crowed as the paper finally caught, then the twigs, and then tiny flames were lapping gently up the sides of the split wood. "I did it!"

She was startled to hear applause coming from her left – the roadway. She'd been concentrating so hard on the fire that she hadn't heard the car come up and stop, but there was Javier, grinning and clapping his hands at her accomplishment. Taking a huge breath in relief, she sat back and slid an annoyed look on her face. "Have I ever told you how much I _hate_ camping?" she complained.

Javi made a show of considering, crossing his arms and screwing up his face. "Yes, I think you have," he finally said, then grinned his sexy grin as he threw his arms open wide to scoop her up as she stood up and ran to him, twirling her around several times like they were in a movie.

Finally coming to rest, his face buried in her hair, he asked with a soft voice, "Are you all right?"

Letty took a deep breath. "I am now," she replied, and meant it. She pulled back to look him in the face. "Are you?"

Javi mirrored her deep breath. "Yes," he said, but then, "except for one little thing."

"What?"

Taking another breath and letting it out in a puff, he looked around for a moment. "I don't know how you managed it," he said quietly, "but you chose the _exact same campsite._ "

 _Where Santino had died,_ she realized instantly. "Oh my god. I'm sorry! We don't have to stay. We'll leave – get another site, or even a hotel room." Knowing she was babbling, she started to take a step back, preparing to turn and start gathering up the gear.

"No, wait," Javi said quickly, tightening his arms around her. He looked as confused as she felt.

"What?" she asked after a moment.

He looked around again, pain spreading across his face, then finally back at her again. "They didn't let me go to the funeral," he said quietly, then his face really twisted. "I never got the chance to say goodbye."

"Then say it now," she nodded. "Look, if he is _anywhere,_ it's _here_ – the place where he was last happy."

Javi couldn't say anything, vaguely grateful that she hadn't said _where he died_.

"You say what you need to," she told him. "I'll be right over here." She backed away sideways a few steps, and turned to stare at her growing campfire, giving him a semblance of privacy.

Javier looked all around the campsite, at the fire and the trees, unable to begin. He felt stupid, talking to empty air. But then he remembered Santino's picture still in his breast pocket, and he pulled it out, cradling it gently in both hands again.

"Lo siento, hermanito," he began, choking as he said the words to the photo, then continuing in Spanish – Santino had never learned any English. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you – you know that. I would give _anything..._ if I had never picked up that stone." Tears were now pouring down his face. "Papa was right about one thing. I loved you best. You were always smiling, always laughing, always loving everyone. You never had a drop of hate or anger in you... And you never felt his hand. He never touched you. But I wasn't jealous!" he said it quickly, as if an unseen someone had accused him. "Because you were everything I always wanted to be."

He looked up then, finally, seeming to look at the very air around the campfire. A sad, painful smile pulled at his lips. "I can still see you, dancing around with that torch. You loved to dance, loved to sing. You might have been a professional, when you grew up." _If you had_ hung unspoken in the air. "And I would have been your biggest fan." He lost it then, sobbing as he scrunched his eyes tightly shut. Letty seized the moment and ran back to him, throwing her arms around her husband and holding him as close as she could, tears pouring down both their faces as they buried them in each other's shoulder.

The evening was warm and still; not a sound disturbed the air. Then suddenly a slight, cool breeze sprang up from nowhere, picking up sparks from Letty's campfire and making them dance unseen around the couple. Then it ruffled its airy fingers through Javi's hair like a benediction... and it was gone.

Gradually Javi's sobs slowed and stopped. Letty waited a few more minutes, then gently drew back to ask simply, "Go now?"

"Yeah," he agreed.

She turned slightly, then back. "Shall we take the tent, or leave it?"

"Leave it," he said shortly, then shook his head with finality. "I'm done with camping."

Nodding agreement, she started to pull away again, but then he caught her hand and drew her back. "Letty... I'm also done with killing. I didn't, today. People died... but not by my hand. And I never will again. I promise."

There was only one response she could make to that. She threw her arms around her husband's neck and gave him a long, long, sweet, tender kiss.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Author's Note:** And you thought we were done here! Nope, here comes the twist Javier whispered in my ear!_

 _Aviso: I know nothing about the Argentinian legal system, and only what's in pop culture about the USA's. My apologies for any errors or misrepresentations. This is for entertainment only._

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

Buenos Aires was used up. Like Danville for Letty, the city held far too many memories, far too much pain, for Javier to ever feel "at home" there again. And there was no way in hell he was going to take over the family business – he had zero interest, and felt no obligations now to anyone.

They talked it over the next morning on their way to returning the rental car Javi had picked up after selling Jorge's Range Rover to a chop shop for plane fare – the crew had begun "chopping" it up for parts before he even left with the five grand cash US dollars in his pocket. The police would never find the car – or more importantly, Javi's fingerprints all over the interior, or on the bag of trash – everything from the drug stores he had touched without gloves on – that he had dropped in a random dumpster on the way.

Neither of them had any particular leanings towards any particular destination, so they decided to see what flight struck their fancy when they arrived at the airport in the taxi. The one thing they agreed on was that they still had no desire to return to the States, not just yet.

Standing together, looking at the departures board, Javi draped his arm around Letty's shoulder and leaned towards her. "Babe..." he began. "Let's do something completely different. Ever been to Europe?"

"Nope," she replied, and he grinned.

"Me, neither." He pointed towards a flight leaving in two hours, bound for Madrid. "That one."

"Sounds good to me!"

They went to the bank inside the terminal first and had their combined cash put onto a pair of prepaid debit cards, then used a kiosk to purchase tickets with the cards. Their only luggage was Letty's getaway bag, so they got in line at security and began the long wait, chatting idly about European possibilities. Both of them were just a little too distracted, too worn out emotionally from the last few days, to pay enough attention to the security guard checking their passports. She ran them through the computer, paused and blinked for a moment, then flashed a subtle signal to her partner.

That partner, a very tall, body-builder type, asked them to step outside the line for a random body scan. They were annoyed, but didn't become alarmed until they were both taken aside to an enclosed room with a couple of detectives already there.

"Javier and Letitia Pereira?" one of the detectives asked. "You're both wanted for questioning."

"About what?" Javi worked hard to seem casual, but he wasn't quite sure he accomplished it.

"A couple of incidents from yesterday – a hotel robbery and a couple of murders at the docks."

How had they been tracked down so quickly? He had no idea. He glanced at Letty, whose wide eyes and white face spoke of incipient panic. "Letty... Sugar!" Javier pushed through the detectives and security guards – where had all these people come from at once? – trying to separate the couple. "Not. One. Word. Don't say _anything_ , to _anyone_. I'll get us a lawyer." He didn't give a fuck if that made them sound guilty of anything – he had too much experience with "justice" of many varieties. _Anything_ made you look guilty to some cops. Letty nodded and pressed her lips firmly together as two uniforms grabbed each of them and hauled them through separate doors, handcuffing each and starting the long walk to waiting police cars.

At that point, Letty didn't know if she'd ever see her husband again.

.

.

Javier was lounging as comfortably as he could on the hard metal bench of the holding cell, long legs stretched out before him on the concrete floor, trying his best to look bored and unconcerned. He wasn't sure he'd managed it when one of the detectives walked by, stopped and smirked, "Looking a little nervous, there, Pereira."

Javi furrowed his brow. "I'm trying to remember whether I unplugged the espresso machine," he said thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you'd care to check?" The man laughed and walked on.

He'd done his best, refusing to answer any questions at all until he had a lawyer by his side. After half an hour or so of fruitless yipping, the detectives had given in and allowed him to make a phone call, and he'd swallowed his pride and called his mother – the only person in the city he knew. He'd been prepared to grovel and apologize for the outcome of the previous day's visit, but – true to form – Carmen had brushed it off, pretending everything was just fine. (In later retrospect, he realized he should have expected that.)

"Hijo! Gracias a Dios! I was so worried when the police told me yesterday that Jorge was dead! I asked them about you, but they said they knew nothing!"

"Mama, what did you tell them?"

"That you had left my house with your uncle, and that I hadn't seen you since. I was worried!" She was completely unaware of what she had done.

"So that's why they arrested me. Mama, I need a lawyer." Not precisely true; he wasn't under arrest, only brought in for questioning – officially, but it had the desired effect on Carmen, transforming her from anxious mother to competent associate in a flash.

"You need a lawyer? I know the perfect person. I will call them at once." After verifying where he was being held – the central police building – she busily hung up and presumably made that call. Shortly after, the police had moved him down to this holding cell, saying they needed the interrogation room for other business. All he could do now was wait, and try to look unconcerned.

Inside, he was anything but – not for himself, but for Letty. He vividly remembered their night in handcuffs in the hotel with Rhonda Latimer and Agent Backup from the FBI, and how Letty was convinced she would never survive another stint in prison. He had no doubt it would only be worse in a foreign country. Although... she had gotten so much better – calmer, more confident, less anxious – in the many months since they had left the South. The further she got from Danville and all it held.

The name Danville made a bittersweet smile cross his lips. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he actually missed Rob. The guy was a genuine character, the most open and honest person Javier had ever met – even if he was dumb as a box of rocks. And he sure as hell was a better Dad, even if he was younger than his "son-in-law", than Javi's real father Oscar had ever been even on his very best day. Javi had meant that silly "World's Best Dad" coffee cup he'd given Rob for Christmas.

Estelle, not so much. Her cup had been hopeful rather than descriptive, just part of the set. And now... well. Javier wasn't exactly the forgiving type, and being set up and turned over to the FBI just wasn't something he was prepared to look past – not unless Letty insisted. He'd do it for her. But she hadn't asked him to.

And Jacob. Even in his thoughts, Javier had to pause a moment to breathe deeply. It hurt to think of the kid. For a few shining, wonderful days, Javi had been a Dad. And he'd loved it. And he'd loved Jacob – so much. But the boy was better off in Danville with Rob – and even Estelle. She'd look after him properly, as she had been doing all his young life. Javier wouldn't admit it to Letty, but he agreed with her on that score: Jacob was so much better off without _both_ of them fucking up his life with their lies and their pasts – especially when the past wouldn't stay put where it belonged. The name Teo rose up, to be banished immediately.

 _Enough,_ he told himself firmly. _Think._ _You've got real problems._ He made himself take a deep breath and blow it out, then another. _The police know I left the house with Tio Jorge. If they haven't found Manny yet, they will, and he will most likely tell them what he heard, up till we dropped him off at that hotel. So better just count on that, and be honest up to that point. After that..._ There wasn't anyone who could contradict anything. Correction: there _shouldn't_ be. _Better stick pretty close to the truth._

A thought struck him then, and he turned ice-cold inside. _What if they found Tomás?_ That son of a bitch wouldn't hesitate to hang Javier out to dry in exchange for beating him bloody. He'd do his best to make Javier guilty of both murders, and whatever else he could think of, out of revenge and to save his own hide.

He thought that one over for a long time, then mentally shrugged. _I'll just have to go on the assumption that they haven't found him, and if they do, then it will be his word against mine. That's all I can do._

"Javier?" For a second, he didn't realize he was hearing his name in the real world, then he started and looked up. A well-dressed, good-looking man of about his height and age was standing beyond the bars, holding a briefcase and smiling at him. He went on, "I haven't seen you since my sister Roberta's wedding. We were what, fifteen?"

Javi looked closely at the man, but couldn't place him. Then the other man grinned and prompted him, "Cousin Antonio?"

"Of course! I'm sorry," Javi had to laugh as he stood up and went to shake the proffered hand. "How are you doing, Tony?"

"I'm doing very well, thanks. I'd ask you the same, but..." Tony gestured at the cell and they shared a rueful grin, then Tony put on a serious expression. "Tia Carmen called me. You need a lawyer. I'm a criminal defense attorney." He grinned again, deprecatingly this time. "Don't let the family connection dissuade you. I'm good. Fifteen years of experience, hundreds of clients, and I lose very few cases." He tipped his head sideways at the guards at the end of the hall. "These guys _hate_ to see me coming."

"Good!" Javier laughed back. "That's just what I need." Then he too turned serious. "Can you represent my wife, as well?"

Tony apparently hadn't heard that part from Carmen. "Is she facing the same thing?"

"I don't _think_ so. They said something about a hotel robbery when they picked us up."

"What's her name?"

"Letitia Raines Pereira." He spelled her first name. "Letty, for short. I don't know where they took her, even."

"Let me look into it. I'll be right back." Tony turned and strode confidently down the hall and out through the gate, and Javier went back to his bench, suddenly feeling much better about his prospects. Tony Hernandez was his cousin on his mother's side, and had always been very smart, very hard-driving, even when they were kids.

A few minutes later, a pair of guards came and took Javier back up to the interrogation room. He caught Tony's eye through a glass window into an office, and his cousin – speaking on a phone – raised a finger and nodded at him. And a minute later, came into the little mirror-walled room where they'd left Javier sitting alone at the table.

"All right," Tony said. "No, it's a different matter, so I can represent you both. Unless they try to tie them up and pit you against each other – "

"Not possible," Javier broke in forcefully. "That will _never_ happen."

"OK," grinned Tony, raising a hand for peace. "She's been very smart; like you, she's only said one word: lawyer. So now they know I am coming, and they are waiting for me."

"Where is she?"

"Here, in fact, over on the women's side." Tony jerked his head over his shoulder. Javier wasn't sure if he felt comforted knowing she was so close, or more frustrated. But his cousin went on, "Now, the formality: do you accept me as your lawyer?"

"Yes." They shook hands and sealed the deal. "But I don't know how I'm going to pay you."

"Don't worry about it," he waved it off. "Family discount. Good. Then the next thing is this: Argentina _does_ have attorney-client privilege, but I cannot guarantee the security of this room. What we say in here _should_ be private, but I've been surprised." Tony sat down finally across the table from Javier. "Before the detectives come in, is there anything you need to tell me, or ask me?"

"Not in here," was Javi's wry assessment.

Tony had no time to react to that, as the door opened and admitted two detectives, very average-looking men in every respect except for their officious attitudes. As Tony quickly stood and moved around the table to his side, Javier distinctly heard one of them mutter, "Oh, shit."

Tony laughed outright. "How are you today, Detective Ramirez?" he asked genially.

"I was better up to a minute ago," came the sour reply, brightening Javier's day immensely.

The detectives commenced with the usual introductory questions, then they asked him to describe what he had done the day before. Javier gave the two men a long dry look and replied, "No. I am not going to answer any open-ended questions, or give long answers to anything, so that you can twist the details and find little inconsistencies to hang me with. I will only answer specific questions on very specific things." He felt more than saw Tony nod approvingly at his shoulder.

The detectives grumbled, but there was nothing they could do. They couldn't _force_ him to answer anything. So they got down to business. As he had decided earlier, he gave them the basic, bare facts up to Manny's departure, without any details about the conversation before then.

"And what happened after that?" It was another open-ended question, but he answered it.

"I drove the car around a little while, stopped at a couple of places to buy a few things, and then he dropped me off downtown." He named a famous landmark.

"What did you talk about?"

"Family history. The business. He wanted me to come work for him, but I told him no. Not interested."

"And that was it?"

"Yes."

"What did you do after that?"

Javier shrugged. "Just wandered around, looking. I grew up here. I was trying to recapture memories."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"Give me an alibi, you mean?" He shrugged again. "I'd have to think about it."

"What did you buy, from where, before then?"

"This and that. I don't remember."

That's when one of them pulled out a receipt and showed it to him. It was a reprint of one of his purchases, at one of the drug stores. They explained that the cashier had remembered him, and given them the receipt. Detective Ramirez began reading the items off. "Duct tape. Garbage bags. Candy. … Mike and Ike? What the hell is that?" He pronounced it "Mee-kay ee Ee-kay". That and the man's utter bewilderment caused Javier to burst out laughing.

"Thank you!" he said with obvious gratitude. "I never could find out who they were." When they stared at him, he elaborated. "Mike and Ike. It's a candy, from America."

"What's it taste like?"

"You know, I have no idea. I've never had any. It's my wife's favorite. I bought it for her. She couldn't tell me who they were, either," he added parenthetically.

Ramirez shrugged, and went back to the receipt. "And medical syringes." The room's temperature suddenly dropped several degrees, as both detectives stared hard at Javier.

"Tio Jorge asked me to get them," he answered as smoothly as he could. "I didn't ask what for. I assumed he wanted them for personal use, if you know what I mean." He debated mentioning he thought his uncle had gotten into the drug trade, but discarded the idea immediately. Don't give them more than they ask for, he kept reminding himself.

"What did you do with the other things? The tape, the bags..."

"I dropped them into one of those donation boxes for hurricane victims. I can't give much, but I like to give odd, useful things like that. Nobody ever thinks of them, but they are needed, too."

"What else did you buy, at other stores?" He shrugged and claimed he didn't remember.

They kept at him for several more minutes, doubling back to try to confuse him, but he decided he'd given them enough. "No. I think I've answered all the questions I'm going to answer. I'm not going to keep answering the same things over and over, so you can look for those inconsistencies. I'm done."

They blustered and tried to push him on that, but Tony backed him up. "Unless you are placing my client under arrest, he doesn't have to keep answering questions. So unless you have anything else...?"

The two detectives reluctantly got up and went outside the room to confer. Tony clapped Javier on the shoulder, saying, "Good job."

Javier was still concerned. "Can they keep me here?"

Tony sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. By law, they can keep you here for up to seventy-two hours before they must either release you or press charges."

"Seventy-two...!" Javier closed his eyes in mental pain. "That goes for Letty, too, doesn't it?" Tony nodded. "Shit."

Tony looked at him quizzically, but just then Ramirez and his partner came back in and, sure enough, announced they were keeping Javier in custody, no time frame given. As he had been picked up at the airport, the detective explained disingenuously, they were concerned he might not stick around for more questions.

Tony stood up, all business. "You cannot question my client outside of my presence," he reminded them. "You will need to call me an hour before, so I can get here." They nodded reluctantly, and then motioned Javier to stand to be escorted back to the holding cell.

Javier turned to Tony, suddenly a little desperate. "Where _can_ we speak in confidence?"

"Your cell, actually," was the surprising reply. "I'll be there in a minute."

Javier was waiting for him at the bars when he arrived. Luckily, no one else had been put into "his" cell in his absence, and the closest people were many feet away. If they spoke in low tones, they would not be overheard.

"I am concerned about Letty," Javier began. "Very worried. Please promise me you will do your best to help her."

Tony furrowed his brow, tipping his head quizzically. "Are you telling me that she... may have done..."

" _No!"_ Javi cut him off, managing to keep his voice down. "It has nothing to do with guilt or innocence. She's..." He looked away for a moment, chewing his tongue as he chose his next words, trying to convey his urgency. "She's extremely fragile. Her... personality. I am worried that if she is put into prison, or even is kept in custody for a few days, it could... shatter her." He paused. "I don't just want my wife back," he ended forcefully, "I want her back in one piece."

"I understand," Tony said soothingly. He dealt with such 'fragile' personalities all the time. But Javier wasn't quite satisfied.

"Do you?" he pressed. "I am trusting you with my _heart_ , cousin. She is _everything_ to me."

Tony just nodded that time, his eyes on Javier's. Ignoring the restriction on physical contact, he briefly put a reassuring hand on his cousin's shoulder.

"Listen," Javi went on. "Give her this message from me. Tell her..."

"I can't be in the position of helping you coordinate alibis," Tony cut in.

Javier shook his head. "No. That's not it. It's this: tell her not to worry about me. I'll be fine. They've nothing on me – there's nothing for them _to_ have. Tell her I told the simple truth – I did. But then tell her to do whatever she has to, to get out of there. Okay?"

"Okay." Tony could live with that message. "I need to get over there."

"Wait!" Another thought had hit Javier. "I'm sorry to pile messages on you. But please tell her this first." He thought a moment, then gave his cousin a very odd sentence to repeat. "I know, it sounds stupid," he tried to grin but it was pained at best, "but it's just a couple of private jokes between us. So that she will know that you came from me, that it's okay to trust you."

Tony smiled understanding one last time, nodded, and turned to go. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said.

"Come back as soon as you can, and let me know what's going on with Letty," Javi countered, desperately afraid.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Letty was _not_ having a good day. Not that she was alone in her holding cell, as Javier had been.

No, soon after she sat down on the bench, Estelle plunked down next to her, cum-stained wedding dress and all, and began berating her wayward daughter for all her real and imagined sins. Letty tried to simply ignore her. She started to slip when Rhonda sat down on her other side and joined in. "You're dead, you know," Letty told the newcomer, but it didn't help. The two women simply took turns calling her all the awful, derogatory things hidden deep in her own brain.

She'd never quite had the courage to tell Javier about this other effect extreme stress had on her: these hallucinations. Who knew how he'd react? Most of the time, he was steady; but every once in a while he'd pull some macho latino bullshit on her. She hadn't had any of them in months, anyway, and had begun to hope they'd gone for good.

No such luck.

She didn't bother answering the accusations, closing her eyes and holding her hands over her ears – not that they could block out something coming from her own mind. Letty sighed, dropping her hands again and staring straight ahead while the tide of bile continued. The worst of it was, they were keeping her from thinking about how to face the coming interrogation.

When the guards finally came for her again, the two ghostly women followed her silently back to the interrogation room, sitting down on magicked chairs against the wall behind her, and starting in again the moment the door closed. This time, Letty put her head down on her crossed arms on the table and let tears silently trickle down her nose.

A real, flesh-and-blood hand on her arm startled her out of her mindlessness, and she jerked up to see a handsome, well-dressed man pulling his hand back and looking at her with real concern. At least, she hoped it was real.

He introduced himself, Antonio – Tony – Hernandez, her husband's cousin and the lawyer he had hired. Then he stopped and smiled. "I'm sorry, I forgot. I am to tell you that... "

Letty broke in. "Wait, do you speak English? My Spanish isn't very good," she confessed.

"I do, in fact," he replied, switching to that language, and they stayed in English until the detectives arrived. Returning to his previous thought, Tony's brow furrowed almost comically. "The pampas rat says you are still not an English teacher?" It wasn't supposed to be a question, but his amusement made it one.

Letty nearly burst into tears again in relief, her hands flying to cover her face for a moment until she had herself in hand again. Then she lowered them and gave Tony a shaky smile. "Okay. I'm sure you know what that means."

"Only that it's a signal between you, a private joke, to tell you that I am genuine. I don't need to know more." He sat down, gave her his "stats" as he had done with Javier, and the same warning about the privacy – or not – of the interrogation room. "So, do you accept me as your lawyer?"

"If Javier did." He nodded, and they shook hands to make it official.

"Is there anything I can do for you? Notify your family?" he offered.

Letty scoffed. "Javier's my family. Wait... Could you call my friend?" Reaching for his pen and paper, she scribbled Christian's phone number. "I don't know if there's anything he can do, but... just let him know what's going on?"

Tony nodded again, he gave her Javi's other message, translated into English.

Letty absorbed that for a moment. The truth, huh? She doubted it was the _whole_ truth, but … she realized what he had tried to say. The truth to a point – the point at which they had been separated. So the police probably knew she had been in the hotel, and with whom, and why. But had she figured that, anyway. And she wouldn't trip _him_ up in return, if she spoke truthfully of what had happened at his mother's house until she had left with Ricky. She nodded thoughfully.

She then spared a moment to think of appearances – what she "should" know – and not know – at that moment. "What are they holding him for? What are they holding _me_ for?" Glancing quickly behind her – although she didn't really need to – she was relieved to see no chairs holding glowering women against the wall. The hallucinations had gone, as they always did when a "real" person appeared, and she could think clearly without their interference.

Tony saw the glance but ignored it, explaining that Javier was being asked about a pair of murders – his uncle and another man. Letty's eyes grew big, but she said nothing. And she was going to be asked about a robbery at the hotel she had checked into the day before. She still said nothing. He laid out what he had already learned. "One man, Ricardo Carillo, has been arrested and is in custody. He is accusing you of being the lead."

"Me?!" Letty piled all the wounded innocent outrage she dared into the word.

"Si, Señora." The new speaker was a detective, one of two just coming through the door. (Not the same pair who had just questioned his cousin, Tony was relieved to see. Less chance of his clients' answers being compared in detail for inconsistencies.) He stood up and moved around the table as he had before, as the man and woman introduced themselves. The woman, Detective Lopez, also spoke English, and would translate as needed. Apparently Letty had made her lack of Spanish known earlier.

In some ways, it was a repeat. Letty, too, refused to answer open-ended questions (where had that come from, Tony wondered briefly), but only specifics. The detectives glanced at each other.

"Let's cut to the chase," the man said. He opened the folder he was carrying and pulled out a small stack of 8x10 photographs, laying them out in a line in front of Letty. "Don't bother denying you were there. This is you checking in," he pointed to the first one, showing Letty at the front desk with Ricky. "The reservation was in your own name, Letitia Pereira. This is also you," the next one showed her and Ricky entering the bar, "in different clothes and a blonde wig." The next one showed them sitting in their booth, her back to the camera she had known was there. And then, shockingly, was a print of the damn selfie Ricky had taken and texted to his boss. "We got this from his phone," the detective explained needlessly.

The next one showed Ricky and Letty – she with her head down, clutching Ricky's arm – walking out of the elevator, the floor number plainly visible. Three more on different floors – each one where a room had been hit. Finally, two more shots showed Letty, sans wig, walking along the upper hallway, and last, escaping out the bar after she'd changed clothes and wig again. _Damn,_ Letty thought. _Damn, damn, damn, DAMN_ _!_ _They got a LOT more than I thought they would!_ They had practically traced her every move through the Palisades.

Tony found he was holding his breath. _Shit. Why did I take this case? She'd better come up with a DAMN good story!_

She did. Letty looked straight at the lady detective, letting emotion show on her face and in her voice. "I was trying to get away from him," she said in a low, shaky voice, sticking to English. "I was afraid of him. Of what he was going to do later. I went along with his crazy idea until I could escape. That's all I was doing."

"All dressed up, and in a wig and makeup?" the man, Detective Garcia, interjected scornfully.

Letty shrugged and gave a tiny, self-deprecating smile. She continued to speak to Lopez. "I like dressing up. It makes me feel braver than I am sometimes." She thought that was a flicker of understanding in Lopez' eyes. "Like I bet your uniform helps you, sometimes," she dared to press, but got no immediate reaction.

"What were you afraid of?" Lopez asked, all business in her voice.

"What do you think?" Letty returned, voice shaking. She looked away for a moment and licked her lips. "He was trying to... get into my skirts." She could see skepticism – just a little. "I decided to take a bath up in the room, and he stood up, like he thought he was going to watch! I had to lock the bedroom door on him to keep him out!" That was definitely true.

"You don't look very afraid here," Lopez replied evenly, pointing to the selfie.

Letty gave a huff of frustration and despair, continuing to act the desperate, innocent wife for all she was worth. "That damn selfie," she murmured. "It was _his_ idea. He wanted to rub it in to Javier that _he_ was having fun with me while Javi was... I don't know what, off with his uncle, I guess." _Whoops. Back up!_ Lopez was still looking skeptical. "I told you, I was afraid of what he was planning to do later. I was just playing along with him until I could get away!"

"You got all dressed up, and went with him to the hotel bar," put in Garcia.

Letty shot him an exasperated look. "I wanted to get him away from the bedroom, in the first place, and out in public where he wouldn't just..." she let it delicately trail off, "and I had a better chance of getting away." She shrugged. "Plus, I was hungry. I hadn't had lunch."

"Why didn't you get away when he was talking to the bartender? Or when you went to the bathroom?" They must have seen the entire video of them at in the bar.

"Because he was _right there._ " She barely kept herself from adding "you idiot". "I wouldn't have gotten very far, he would have grabbed me or something."

"This isn't what your husband told us," Garcia said reflectively.

Letty heard Tony next to her take a breath to object, but she beat him to it. "Bullshit," she said flatly. "He didn't tell you anything about what happened at the hotel – because he didn't know. I didn't tell him."

Both detectives plainly disbelieved that assertion. "You didn't tell him? You expect us to believe that?"

"Yes," Letty replied, and decided to put a quaver in her voice again. "Because I didn't want to make him angry."

"Does he get violent when he gets angry?" This from from the woman, Lopez, as if trying to elicit a confidence.

"No! That's not what I said! Don't put words in my mouth!" Letty flared. "Oh, look!" She turned sarcastic. "If you ever run into a woman who says she _enjoys_ making her husband angry, watch out!" She leaned forward and tapped her temple with a finger, dropping her voice to a whisper. _"She's crazy!"_

That got a snort of laughter from Tony. "She's got you there!" he put in, aiming his comment at the male detective.

Said man looked sour. "Yeah. But I think she's talking about _my_ wife."

"Well, with all due respect," Letty returned, "that's _your_ problem." Sensing she was just short of antagonizing him too far, she retreated. "That's why I did my best not to look upset or afraid in that selfie," she tapped the damning picture. "And why I added the wink. It's kind of our little signal to each other," she added delicately. "That... even if we're with other people, we're still thinking about each other." She looked away at the wall, wishing she could make herself blush on demand.

"Something is still not adding up," Garcia commented. He tapped the last picture, of her walking out the bar. "How did you change clothes?"

"I put some things in that little bag," she pointed to it under her arm, "and hid it inside the bigger one. They nest together. Then I hid that one in the ladies' room."

"You planned it all out?"

"Yes, when I was taking a bath. I was just watching for my chance to slip away from him – I thought sure he'd have to use the men's room with everything he was drinking. He must have had five or six drinks while we had lunch. I just had a glass of wine. But then he came up with this _crazy_ idea to rob the hotel. He went on and on about how easy it would be. He was trying to impress me. So he got some information from the bartender – room numbers, I guess – and dragged me upstairs to help him before I could get away. I didn't see I had any choice but to go along. I didn't touch _anything_ in any of the rooms." That much was definitely true – she'd been extremely careful about that. "He told me we should leave the room separately. And then when he was grabbed by security, I saw my chance, and ran for it."

"Why didn't you get help from the security guards?"

"Oh, right!" She turned sarcastic again. "When's the last time you were arresting somebody, and somebody else came up and said, 'take me too, officer, I helped!' " She'd held out her hands over the table like asking for handcuffs. "They'd have just arrested me, too. I was trying to get away, and get back to my husband!"

"How did you do that? He would have thought you were in the hotel."

Letty looked straight at Lopez for a moment, then away. "We can always find each other. That's never a problem." She shut her lips firmly. She wasn't going to add that they'd set it up before parting – that was too premeditated.

Tony decided it was time to jump in. "I would like to ask, why are you pointing fingers at Señora Pereira? She's obviously another victim here."

Sr. Garcia decided to answer. "Because her accomplice claims it was all _her_ idea – the bar, the robbery, all of it."

Letty slid an astonished, insulted look on her face. " _ME?_ What the hell would _I_ know about robbing a hotel?" ( _Everything_ , Estelle commented from behind her shoulder, but Letty didn't flinch, didn't turn. _Shut UP, Mom!_ she yelled inside her head.) "I don't even have a police record." ( _Any more._ ) "Ricky's probably got a rap sheet as long as your arm!"

" 'Rap sheet'? " Garcia was confused by the reference, but Tony enlightened him.

"Police record."

"He does," came the sour admission. "But not for robbery."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Letty commented caustically. She took a deep breath. "I don't think I'm going to answer any more questions. I've already told you everything that happened. You're just going to use my words against me, and convict me just because I was there." She snapped her mouth shut, wishing she hadn't added the last bit, but too late.

The two detectives tried a few more times, asking different questions, but she stuck to her guns. She'd said quite enough. Probably too much. She had no idea whether this would work, blaming it all on Ricky. Probably not, her sinking heart told her. She'd blown it, big time. _Do whatever you need to do to get out of there,_ Javier had said. How was she ever going to dig her way out of this? For once, her ability to spin stories had failed her, utterly. So much for Javi's magician.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

Two days later the police filed charges of grand theft and accessory to murder, respectively, against Letty and Javier, booked them, and sent them to the Buenos Aires equivalent of the county jail to await further actions. Unfortunately, the two jails were segregated by sex, and they were processed out of police headquarters separately, so they had no glimpse of each other as they had hoped they might.

It was as Javier was being fingerprinted that the realization hit, and he felt the world come crashing down. He managed to maintain his icy calm facade, letting the officer roll his fingers in the ink and onto the paper, but inside he was screaming f-bombs at himself. _How could you be so fucking stupid!? Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!_

He had pulled out each prepared syringe from his pocket with his bare hand before tossing it to Jorge. Both of them.

He managed to keep himself moving impassively in response to the officer's directions until the bars of his new cell crashed shut behind him, echoing through every nerve in his body, every synapse in his mind. He turned and sat heavily on his new bunk, ignoring all the catcalls and taunts from other prisoners, and stared at the wall opposite.

 _Fuck_.

The feeling of those syringes in his fingers kept replaying in his mind, no protective latex in between. He'd pulled them out without thinking, and tossed them to his uncle.

All he could do now was hope and pray – if he could – that Jorge's sweaty (and in the second instance, bloody) hands had obscured his own prints. Otherwise, this was his permanent new home.

And what would happen to Letty?

.

.

Letty's involuntary, imaginary companions had gone with her to her new digs, so she wasn't surprised the next long, boring afternoon when Christian suddenly sat down beside her on the bunk.

He didn't speak for several long breaths, simply staring as she was at the wall. Finally, she broke the silence, asking heavily, "What do you want, Christian?"

He took a breath. "What do _I_ want? Wrong question. What do _you_ want, Letty?"

This was so ridiculous that she couldn't help but snort, and gave him the stinkeye. "Duh. Out of here."

"I don't mean right now. I mean the future. What do you want from life, Letty Pereira?"

At least he had her last name right. "Oh, god, is this going to be another of your famous lectures?"

"No, I'm not giving you an lecture. I'm asking you. What do you want?"

"What does it matter? I'm not going to get it. Ever."

"No, you won't," he agreed pleasantly. "Not if you don't start working for it. You see, Letty, up till now you've just been drifting. Just going along with whatever happens. But if you want something, really _want_ it, you have to work for it. I don't mean like a job, for wages. I mean that every decision you make, every day, and every action you take, has to be aimed at getting you closer to your goals. Or else you're just drifting." It had turned into a lecture after all, but one she couldn't turn off and ignore. "So I'm asking again: what do you want out of life?"

He fell blessedly silent at last, while his last question echoed through her soul. What did she want?

"A home. A family," she finally whispered.

"What does 'home' mean to you? I'm assuming you don't mean that house in Danville, or the one Javi bought you."

Letty shook her head sadly. "No. I mean..." She thought about it for a minute. "A place – any place – that's _mine_. Mine and Javi's. I want Javi, too. But a place we can set up and decorate just the way we like, and _stay there._ Some place I don't ever have to leave behind and move away. I'm tired of moving constantly It doesn't have to be big or fancy – I like nice things, but... I don't _need_ them. I just want Javi, and a place of our own."

"He's a big part of it," Christian observed, and Letty nodded. "And that's family, too? Javi?"

"Him... maybe others. I don't know."

"So what makes a family? I'm presuming you don't mean the one in Danville there, either."

She started to shake her head, then stopped. "Maybe. I don't know." She sighed and tried again. "Family is... people who love you. People who like you. People who build you up, instead of tearing you down all the time." Like her hallucinations had been doing, she didn't add. Like the real people they were images of did. "What's that stupid saying?"

"Friends are the family you choose?"

"Yeah..." she replied wistfully. "That's what I mean."

They were silent for a minute. "The thing is, Letty, that to make and keep friends like that, you have to treat them right. You have to love, and like, and build them up, too, instead of treating them like garbage. That's something you've never really learned how to do. You lie, you cheat, you steal – from everybody. Other people aren't really 'real' to you."

Ouch. That one really hurt. "You're real. I mean the real you. And Javier's real."

"Yay. Two for a thousand."

Stung, she gasped and looked away. After a moment, Christian said contritely, "I'm sorry. That was harsh." It was the first time she could remember one of her phantoms apologizing to her. She could almost believe it was really Christian, the man. But it made her face up to what he'd said.

"No, you're right. But I think I've been doing better at that!" she protested immediately. "I didn't lie to Maribel on the coffee plantation – or the others there! Or my coworkers or Juan Carlos at the bar in Acapulco! And I didn't steal or cheat anybody!"

"No, you didn't. That's a good start. You just need to remember that, and keep it up." He shrugged. " _If_ you want to keep friends, and make that family." He paused. "Of course, you're lying right now. Big time."

"What do you mean?"

"Blaming the robbery on Ricky," he pointed out quietly. "That's a big, big lie."

Letty thought for a minute. "Well, I guess that's just something I'm going to have to live with." She couldn't change her story now, and to what? Confessing the truth? She'd _never_ get out of prison.

Turning slightly, she saw Christian smiling at her. "What?"

"Everybody has something they just have to live with," he said quietly. "It's how you handle it, what you do with it, that makes all the difference."

They stared at each other for a moment. "You're a good friend, Christian," Letty said from her heart. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, Letty."

"When I find my home, will you come visit? Maybe stay?"

"You bet. I'd like that."

"Talking to yourself, Pereira?" Letty startled to realize this was coming from a guard passing outside her cell, and she jerked her head around the other way to glare at the woman.

"Around here, that's the only way to get any intelligent conversation," she replied sarcastically, and the guard laughed and continued on.

Christian had disappeared, of course; he was never really there to begin with.

But he had given her a _lot_ to think about.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

The guard brought Javier into the defendant's waiting room, took off his handcuffs, and sat him in one of the uncomfortable chairs around the outside before sitting himself down in the one next to it. There was no one else in the room. Javier sighed and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. He wondered what this was about, and where Tony was. He was supposed to be here.

A few minutes later, the door to the hallway of the courthouse opened again, admitting another pair of guard and prisoner. "Letty!" Javi cried, jumping up and practically running to her, ignoring his own guard's order to stop. He threw his arms around his wife, scooping her up and holding her tightly, even before her guard managed to get her handcuffs off. When she did, Letty wrapped her arms around Javier's waist and held on.

She'd burst into tears on seeing him, and couldn't stop. "Hey, hey, hey, it's ok. It's going to be all right," he whispered soothingly – calming himself down as much as her.

"I thought... maybe you had abandoned me," she managed to choke out.

He was outraged. "Never!" Pulling back, he held her face in both hands. "Never! How could you..."

Letty shook her head. "I'm sorry. I just... I can't help where my mind goes sometimes. You know that."

He forgave her. "I know." Sighing, he again ignored the guards to give her a quick, tender kiss. The guards looked at each other, shrugged, and gave up. "Shhh," Javi went on. "We're going before a judge in a minute, and you need to be calm."

"Do you know what's going on? They didn't tell me anything," she asked him.

Javi shook his head. "They told me it was a bail hearing, but why would they do both of us at once?"

"Actually," came Tony's voice from the doorway, then he quietly shut the door behind him and nodded to the guards. "I've got them. They're both my clients." The guards nodded back and stepped away. Tony walked to the couple and began again, very softly. "Actually, they're about to offer both of you a deal. The same deal. And it's a good one – I've been working to bring it together all morning. And now," he glanced at his watch and grimaced, "I've got about one minute to explain it to you." He had the overworked, harassed look of someone who had possibly been up all night, as well.

Javi and Letty had kept their arms around each other while they turned to their lawyer. He laid it out plainly, speaking rapidly. "They've got enough on each of you to go to trial, and frankly, a good chance of winning convictions. I also found out that the Americans have warrants out for you, Javier – ICE and the FBI both. However... our prosecutors don't care about that. They're willing to cut a deal. You'll each plead guilty to a minor offense, pay a fine – which is taken care of," he patted a pocket, "and leave the country, and all charges will be dropped."

Another door opened across the room and a court security officer stood there, calling their names. It was time to go in. Tony tried to usher the two before him, but Javi was having none of the rush.

"Tony!" he whispered urgently. "Tell me you're not railroading us!"

Tony looked straight back. "I'm not railroading you, cousin. It's bad. This is the best deal you're going to get – better than you could hope for. Otherwise, you're looking at ten to life – and she's looking at three to ten years behind bars." Letty whimpered involuntarily.

Javier looked at his wife, knowing she couldn't go through that – and he sure didn't want to, either. So he gave her a squeeze before dropping his arms, picked up her hand instead, and turned with her towards the door.

The court was waiting inside, watching as the three of them took their place behind one of the two tables. They probably weren't supposed to keep holding hands, but neither of them gave a shit. The court clerk intoned their case numbers, surprising the judge. "These are two separate cases?" Judge Ramos (by his name plate) asked, mystified.

The prosecutor, whom Letty and Javier had never seen before, jumped in. "The two defendants are a married couple, your honor, and we're offering them the same deal."

"Well, then," the judge acquiesced. He took the two files from the clerk, and verified the identities of Javier and Letty. "Javier Pereira, you have been charged with two counts of accessory to murder, and conspiracy to commit murder. Letitia Pereira, you have been charged with four counts of grand theft." One, presumably, for each of the four hotel rooms she and Ricky had robbed. The judge skipped over getting their pleas. "Do you both accept the offer?"

"Your honor," Javier jumped in before Tony could speak. "Could we hear the details again, to make certain nothing was changed in the official version at the last minute?" No reason to put his cousin on the spot – apparently he'd been working hard to make this happen. But Javier certainly wasn't going to agree to something sight unseen or unheard.

Judge Ramos admitted he needed to read it out into the record, anyway. He took a page from each file, and looked back and forth between them for a minute before stating they were identical but for the names and case files. "Here it is, then. First, you each will plead guilty to entering the country of Argentina illegally, using counterfeit passports." Javier and Letty glanced at each other; this was the first they'd heard that their passports had been spotted as fakes.

"Second, for that offense, you will each pay a fine of – " The judge named a sum in Argentine pesos, which Javier instantly mentally converted to something in the neighborhood of five thousand US dollars. How were they to come up with such a sum? He shot Tony an alarmed look – but his cousin was pulling a cashier's check out of the pocket he'd patted earlier and passing it to Javier. It was already written out for the exact amount of both fines, plus a bit more that Javi assumed would be court costs. Who the hell had paid that?

But the judge was continuing, paying no attention to the byplay at the defendant's table. "Third, you will both leave the country immediately, no later than midnight tonight, and agree to never return. Should you ever attempt to reenter Argentina, you will be arrested and face further charges."

"In return, all pending charges against you, as listed before, will be dropped with prejudice." Judge Ramos put the papers down on his desk and looked at the Pereiras. "Do you accept the deal?" he asked again.

Each of them was trying to whisper a question to Tony. "Your honor," he jumped in, "may we have one minute to confer?" It was allowed.

Javier went first, leaning across Letty to whisper with concern, "They're deporting us to the States? I can't go back there – you just told me – ." He was about to bring up the warrants Tony had mentioned earlier, but his cousin held up his hand to stop him.

"No. Not to the US, just out of Argentina. They don't give a – about where you go," he amended, skipping the expletive at the last second.

"What about my testimony against Ricky?" Letty needed to know.

Tony shook his head. "They've got enough to convict him without it. They caught him with the goods, they've got the testimony of hotel security and the bartender. He's probably already cutting his own deal." He looked back and forth. "Well?"

Javier and Letty glanced at each other. "Well, we were leaving, anyway," Javi muttered, and Letty nodded. "Yeah."

They turned back to the judge and officially and separately accepted the deal.

.

.

They made one quick stop on the way out of the courthouse, so Tony could give the check for the fines to the clerk of the court, then he led them out to his waiting SUV in the parking lot. As they were climbing into the back seat together, Letty stopped and stared in the cargo area. "Javi," she brought his attention to what was there. All four of their suitcases, from Mexico and LA. And her little getaway bag.

They sat, and turned bewildered looks on Tony as he climbed in behind the wheel. He laughed and handed them their passports. "They gave it all to me this morning," was all the explanation they were going to get. Then he pulled out his cell phone, unlocked it, found a number and dialed it, and then handed the phone specifically to Letty, ignoring Javi's outstretched hand.

It was already ringing. "Is this where we find out who just bought and paid for us?" Javi inquired of his cousin wryly. Tony smiled and nodded, then turned to gaze out the windshield as if uninvolved.

The call was finally answered, by what sounded like an elderly woman. "Hello?" she said in English.

"Uh, hello?" Letty had the phone, so she must be the caller. "Who is this?"

"Letty! Thank goodness! It worked – this is Alice!"

" _Alice?_ " Letty was dumbfounded. "My grandmother!" she reminded Javier.

"I remember," he commented, although equally amazed.

Alice broke in, "Is that Javier too?" At his _yes_ , she continued. "Oh thank god. It all worked then as planned?"

"Si, Señora," Tony broke in from the front. "I'm just taking them to the airport."

"Good. _Thank_ you, Antonio. Their tickets are waiting for them at the counter." She named an airline. "Their flight departs in three hours."

"Alice... how did you find us?" Letty wanted to know.

"I've been looking for you for a couple of months, dear," came the startling reply. "I even called your mother – she didn't know where you were. Neither did Jacob. In fact, they seem to rather think that you might be dead. But then Jacob found the name of your old parole officer, Christian Woodhill, in some paperwork in your old room, and remembered that you had said he was still your friend. So he gave me the name, and I tracked him down. _He_ didn't know then where you were, either, but then a couple of days ago he called me back, and gave me the story and Antonio's number, so I called _him_ , and asked what I could do to help you. And here we are."

"Okay..." Letty said speculatively. There was something else going on here – she had too much experience with Alice to believe in free gifts. She cut to the chase. "Why?"

Alice hesitated. "Because I have an offer I'd like to make, to both of you. Oh, don't worry, I think you'll like it. But I'll tell you what. Come up here and listen. And if you don't like it, you can walk away, scot-free, no strings. And consider your freedom my belated wedding gift."

"Alice," Javier objected, a little panicked. "I can't come to the States..."

"I know," she cut him off. "ICE is looking for you. Don't sweat it. I'm not in the States. I'm in Barbados. It's a separate country," she added needlessly.

Javier shut his mouth with a snap. "Oh. Okay."

They looked at each other for a minute, then Alice said, "Look. You have to leave Argentina anyway. Why not come up to the Caribbean for a bit of vacation? And hear what I have to say."

Two looks, two shrugs. "Why not?"


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Tony navigated his SUV through the heavy traffic on the way to the airport, glancing now and then in the mirror at his two clients/passengers in the back. Javier was examining both of their returned passports, Letty just looking out the window.

"They don't seem to have marked them as counterfeit," Javi commented. "Why not?"

Tony shrugged. "I think they felt it was Donald Trump's problem," he replied, referring to the current US President – universally disliked in Latin America. "Nobody down here is inclined to help him out in any way."

"So they didn't flag them in any computer system, either?"

"I don't think so."

"So we can keep using them, as long as the next customs agent doesn't investigate them too closely?"

Tony shrugged. He wasn't going to come out and recommend illegal activity to anyone.

Javier put the documents in his breast pocket. "What did they have on me, anyway?" he wanted to know.

"Mostly, your fingerprints were on the two syringes they found at the scene." He watched as Javier turned to stare out the window with a sour, disgusted expression. "And you were the last known individual with Pereira." Then Tony grinned. "But I'll tell you what was in your favor – that I don't think anyone else has told you."

"What?"

"Jorge waited until the police arrived before shooting himself with the drugs. They watched him do it, and watched him die. You were nowhere around. Plus, each of the bullets in each man had definitively been fired by the other man's gun. It was a shootout, plain and simple. That's why you were charged as an accessory, not for the murders themselves."

Javi grunted, still disgusted with himself for the shoddy slipup.

"They're still looking for Perez's associate. He's gone underground." Tony was watching Javi in the mirror while they were stopped at a red light. He was definitely fishing.

Javi looked straight into his cousin's reflected eyes. "Who?" Then he said, deliberately, "I didn't kill anyone, Tony."

Tony was still unsettled. "The FBI – "

"Stop." Javi cut him off hard and flat. "Don't ask." He was still looking straight in the mirror.

Tony looked at him a moment longer, then took off from the traffic light with a shrug. "Sounds like that's Donald Trump's problem, too," was his only, mild comment. A moment later, he glanced at Letty. "As for you, Letty – "

As her husband had a moment before, she cut him off with a raised hand. "I know what they had on me." She sighed. "It was my word against his as to whose idea it all was." She glanced swiftly at Javier beside her, then back out the window. _At least I don't have to lie in court now,_ she thought. _Does that mean it doesn't really count as a lie?_ No reply from Christian.

"Hey," Javier said softly. "Everything's all right now." He raised his arm to put it around his wife and gather her close, then gently placed a kiss on her temple before whispering in her ear. "We need to do better at coordinating, though. This keeping our business separate nearly got both of us locked up."

As he pulled back, she gave him a level, steady look before replying in the softest whisper, far too quiet to carry to the front seat. "Yeah. But frankly, I'd rather not go through any of this, ever again. I'm tired of this life, Javi. I'm tired of constantly moving around, constantly worrying. I want to stop. I want that home you promised." She never thought she'd hear herself saying she was willing to give up her only thrills, but there it was. She laid her other hand on his chest, above his heart. "I don't care if we don't have a lot of money. Aside from your job – and I understand that – but aside from that, we were doing all right in Acapulco. I like fine things, but I want you more. As long as we're together, we're all right."

Javi stared at her a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he replied, as softly as she had. "We'll make it a top priority. I promise." And sealed it with a kiss.

Letty leaned into him then, tucking her forehead into his neck and sighing, as he picked up her hand from his heart and held it in his. They rode that way all the way to the airport.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

After a very long, overnight journey involving two changes of planes, at last they landed on Barbados. Javier had used his Mexican phone on the airplane's wifi to read all about the island nation, Letty reading over his shoulder. They took turns pointing things out. "Former British colony... Stable government... High standard of living..." etc etc. It was an enticing prospect for a long-term stay. Maybe very long-term.

They collected their odd assortment of bags from the carousel, Letty grumbling again at the lack of any chance to repack. She was certain all their clothes were terminally wrinkled and probably stained – especially the ones from Los Angeles. How long had they been sitting all jumbled together in those suitcases; months? Both of them held their breath, very quietly, while handing their passports to customs control, but this time the busy clerk barely glanced at the documents before handing them back with a smile and a warm island welcome.

They were met at the gate not by Letty's grandmother, but by a man holding the traditional chauffeur's sign with their names. He asked to see their passports to make sure they weren't impostors, then led them outside the terminal to a brand new, shiny black Range Rover. And then he handed Javier the keys, saying "I am to tell you that Alice says 'Merry Christmas'. Your destination is already programmed into the GPS under 'home'." And with that, he shook both their hands, then turned on his heel and walked jauntily away.

'Home' turned out to be a modern high-rise condo in downtown Bridgetown; a sticky note on the dash provided the unit number. Alice finally met them at the door of her condo, surprising Letty by holding her tightly in a long, warm hug as Javier brought all the bags inside. She even gave one to Javier, saying "There's that handsome latin bastard who's been dragging you around!"

"I think we've been taking turns at the dragging," he laughed.

Alice gave him a shrewd look. "I notice you don't object to the first part," she commented.

He slid an innocent look on his features. "What, the 'handsome' part?"

"No, the 'bastard'." Why was she pushing that? Just to see his reaction?

After a moment, he added a touch of guilt. "I have my moments," he admitted.

Alice laughed and let him off the hook, ushering the pair into her spacious living room, and asking Letty to make them all drinks. A glance at Javier and she made a pitcher of strong martinis, even though it was only approximately lunchtime.

As the couple sat on the couch across from her chair, Javier asked Alice where her husband RJ was. "He's been very quiet lately," Alice replied obliquely, then grimaced. "Sorry. Bad joke. RJ died about eighteen months ago. Had a massive coronary right in the middle of one of his gala fundraisers, right in front of hundreds of people." Sipping her drink, Alice saw neither Javier's sly half-grin at Letty, nor her answering eyeroll.

"So you got your millions," Letty observed.

"Yes, all of it, rather than eighty percent – or at least, all of it after all his charity earmarks, which worked out to about the same. A very comfortable retirement, at any rate."

"Why Barbados?" Letty asked. "I thought you were going to... where was it?"

"Puerto Fino. That used to be in Puerto Rico, but I don't think it's there any more, after the hurricane. But that's why Barbados: almost no hurricanes. Also, it used to be a British colony, so they speak English – with a very lovely accent. I'm still trying to learn it."

"Please don't!" Letty laughed. "You're _terrible_ at accents. Remember that dreadful British one you were using?" Javier screwed up his face in confusion, and then laughed along with the ladies. He had _thought_ there was something different about Alice, but couldn't put his finger on it. She'd dropped the accent he had heard before and was speaking like the American she was.

Letty couldn't stand the suspense, and moved to end it. "So what is this job you're wanting us to do, then, Alice? I thought you were planning to stop all that."

Alice raised her eyebrows. "I was, and I have. I'm retired, completely. This isn't about that. I haven't asked you here for anything like that."

"Then what?"

Alice sighed and took a sip. When she replied, it didn't seem to be in direct answer, at first. "It took several months for the will to go through probate – and the sale on that damn plantation _still_ isn't final – before I finally managed to get away and come down here. Found this place and settled in. And then... well, to my horror, I have finally realized that after all these years, I simply don't like living alone any more." Ignoring their growing confusion, Alice raised a forestalling hand. "Oh, I don't want another _husband_ , god forbid! I don't want somebody in my face twenty-four-seven. But I like the idea of someone else being in the house, someone to spend time with occasionally, someone to talk to, to eat meals with – god, how I hate eating alone all the time! – and not someone I'm _paying_ to be there, either."

She turned to Letty. "Which brings me to you. Letty, you're the closest thing to a best friend I ever had in my life. We're kindred spirits – we certainly get along well." She then turned her gaze from a gobsmacked Letty and directed it at Javi. "Javier, I don't know you, but you're devoted to my granddaughter; the two of you have stood the test of time," gesturing at their clasped hands, "and are obviously a package deal, so I'm prepared to accept you on faith."

She leaned forward a bit. "I'm asking you both to move in with me." Ignoring their shocked expressions at this bombshell, Alice waved a hand dismissively at the condo at large. "Oh, not here – this place is much too small; we'd be constantly up each other's asses. No, I'll sell the condo – or rent it out. We'll buy a house up on the hill that we all like, one big enough for us to spread out in and not be in each other's faces all the time. All you have to do is keep me company occasionally."

While they were absorbing this, Alice turned back to Javi again. "Are you as good a cook as you claim? The truth, please."

Javier smiled. "I am," he said simply.

"Good. I never really learned to cook, but I'm tired of eating every single damn meal out. The kitchen is all yours." She waved a vague hand at the far room. "You'll find it's nearly bare, though. You'll have to equip it from the ground up – but I rather think you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?"

Javier and Letty were getting more confused, not less. "Are you planning to pay me – us – a salary?" he asked.

"No, I'm not paying you a damn salary – I just said I didn't want employees! But you'll live in a beautiful house, rent-free. You can help me furnish and decorate it. You have a nice car. And I'll give each of you a credit card on my accounts, with very generous limits. You'll want for nothing."

Letty had a question. "Are you going to keep ragging on me, like you did last time?" Javier glanced at her, surprised – he hadn't heard any of that at the time.

Alice grimaced. "No," she replied thoughtfully. "I'm sorry for the things I said to you then. I was under a lot of pressure – not that that's an excuse, especially since I'd put it on myself. But they were still wrong, and I'm sorry. No, I won't rag on you." Her voice made it a promise.

She looked back and forth at them for a moment, reading their uncertainty and shrewdly guessing its cause – the commitment she was asking for, as well as the surprise. She'd had much more time to think about it, after all. She sat back and smoothed out her skirt. "Tell you what. Let's make this a six-month trial period. We'll go ahead and get the house, and try it out. After the end of six months, if it's not working for any of us, for any reason, we'll part company. No hard feelings, and you can keep whatever you've bought – and the car. But if it _does_ work," she paused dramatically, "then we'll make it permanent. I'll put you both on the title for the house, and I'll make out a will naming you, Letty, my sole heir. All you have to do is promise not to bump the old lady off early." Wide-eyed with mock horror, luckily Alice misinterpreted their quick bemused glances at each other as innocent. "What do you say? Shall we give it a go?"

.

.

The next few days were an absolute whirlwind. That very afternoon, they all had to go out to the mall for the first gigantic shopping trip: the couple's new room – the condo's second master suite – had only bare furniture, and needed bedding, drapes, a throw rug, hangars... and rugs and towels and a shower curtain for the bathroom. And the most basic kitchen sets of pots and pans, utensils, gadgets... and plates and glassware and silverware... and an espresso machine... Luckily, the upscale department stores were happy to deliver the mountain of packages directly to the condo late that afternoon. And finally, a stop at the supermarket for food and all their toiletries. They got home just before the deliveries began, exhausted but happy.

Phones, bank cards, an iron and steamer and ironing board... and have you ever tried to outfit a kitchen completely, from nothing? Javier took his time, making sure he got the best of everything, and what he really wanted and needed, keeping in mind that the "adequate" condo kitchen was NOT the final setting.

Then they began house-hunting up in the upscale neighborhoods draping the hills surrounding Bridgetown. And in fact, they found a house all three of them instantly fell in love with on the second day, two master suites and three smaller bedrooms, big enough to hold all three of them along with whatever hobbies they might get into, with a gorgeous swimming pool in the back yard (even better than the one in Buenos Aires) and an absolutely stunning view of both the city and the distant sea. Three days of negotiation (Alice _could_ have paid the full asking price in cash, but wouldn't without at least putting up a show of haggling a little, just for the sheer enjoyment of it) and it was theirs – and then came the marathon of furniture hunting and delivery and setup – and then all the other things that fell under the headings of "arranging" and "decorating".

At last, nearly a month after Letty's and Javier's arrival on Barbados, the three of them moved into their new home.

They celebrated that evening, of course, with a fancy, elaborate meal of Javier's making – far better even than the one he had made all those months before for the disastrous dinner at his sister's restaurant. Letty didn't need to ask what caused the difference; her husband's happy, relaxed, carefree attitude was obvious at a hundred paces.

Late that night, he found her standing on the balcony outside their bedroom, sipping the last of her champagne while gazing contemplatively out over the moonlit sea, a soft cool ocean breeze wafting up the slope to play gently with her hair. He came up behind her and slipped both hands around her waist, drawing her gently back to his body and whispering kisses on her cheek and neck as she tilted her head obligingly. He couldn't quite make out her expression – was it tinged with sorrow? Apprehension?

He gently turned her to face him, and she set her glass down on the ledge before clasping her hands behind his neck. Tracing her slightly furrowed brow with his fingertips, his concern showed on his face. "What is it?" he asked softly.

"Tell me I'm not dreaming this," she whispered, almost fearfully. "Tell me this is real. That it will last."

"You are not dreaming," he replied, slow and solemn, his voice the softest murmur over the sea breeze. "It is real. And it will last – a lifetime. I promise. _Our_ lifetime." Leaning forward, Javier gave her a long, sweet, tender kiss, as she had given him at the campground. Then he looked deep into her eyes again, as a quiet, joyful smile claimed his mouth.

"Welcome home, Letty Raines Pereira," he whispered, as soft as the waves on the distant sand, and again. "Welcome home."


	23. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 _ **One year later...**_

Letty climbed out of the pool and padded over to the chaise, toweling herself briefly off before she sat down. The water had felt especially good today, and she'd done a few more laps than usual. She put on her straw hat and sunglasses before leaning back, smiling fondly at the stunning view of the distant Caribbean, sparkling merrily in the afternoon sunshine a mile away and several hundred feet below.

Alice had gone upstairs to take her afternoon siesta, resting or reading in her deliciously dim, cool bedroom as the tropical breezes played around the half-closed shutters. Through the open window behind her, Letty could hear Javier happily puttering around the kitchen, whistling and sometimes singing along with the Latino Americano mix playing softly on his radio. He was whipping up something delicious for their one-year "anniversary" that night.

She smiled again, thinking back exactly a year to their arrival and the surprise proposal Alice had for them. That had certainly come out of the blue – Letty would _never_ have expected that kind of invitation from her cold, elusive grandmother – who still hated to be called that. Letty reached for her glass of wine and took a sip, savoring it with a satisfied smile. _Oh, that's good. This label is_ _definitely_ _a keeper._

They had given it a go, all right, and it was working out _fabulous._ The three of them got along surprisingly smoothly. And the house they had found was... _perfect_. As was the rest of the life they had built here in Barbados, piece by piece.

Shortly after moving in, mindful of their stated obligation, Letty and Javier had begun sending carefully-chosen equipment and supplies to Doctor Morales (who had dug out the bullets with Letty's assistance) back in Marenga, and set up a line of credit on their dime for him with a medical supply company for drugs he couldn't easily obtain through his usual supplier. (They looked for a clinic in similar condition to adopt on their new island, but the Bajan medical system was so far improved over the Mexican one that it was unnecessary.) Then a few weeks later, Letty discovered Javier was quietly filling the back of the Range Rover once a week with groceries and kid's clothes, shoes, and books, driving it up to a different run-down neighborhood church, and giving it all away, a repeated act of direct, face-to-face charity unmatchable in joy and satisfaction for all concerned. Without a word, she joined him. Inevitably, Letty would find herself surrounded at the end by a group of very young children asking her to read their new books to them. She always did. And a few weeks after _that_ , the two of them began going to a nearby elementary school twice a week to tutor very young students in math and reading. They also gave generously to a couple of organizations working to bring broadband and computers to the remaining schools without them on the island.

And to their great surprise, all three began making actual friends in the neighborhood. They joined the informal round of backyard barbecues early on, and Javier wowed them all with his dinner when it came their turn to host one – netting him a few catering gigs, which soon enough turned into a profitable, if occasional, sideline which he greatly enjoyed. Letty often came along to assist in the serving, or act as bartender.

He was also invited to complete a weekly foursome at the golf course, too. "I like golf," he defended himself against Letty's surprise, "especially when I can play eighteen holes and not have to kill somebody on the back nine." While the men played golf, Alice would often join the women, ostensibly for cards, but really to knock down half a dozen cocktails and gossip. And Letty had her circle, too, which she often joined for lunch and shopping downtown. And yes, she always payed for whatever she picked up.

As for their pasts, Javier simply said he'd been a private chef, but had no stories to tell – which earned him the immediate, well-deserved reputation for discretion (and helped the occasional catering). Letty, mindful of her promise to herself to stop lying to everyone, "let slip" to her new best friend (and closest neighbor across the street) that she was a recovering addict who had bounced between a string of shit jobs, did a lot of things she wasn't proud of, and simply had no wish to talk about the past. Once word of _that_ got around, the questions stopped, everyone letting her be. She found it surprisingly pleasant to not have to keep track of a bunch of self-aggrandizing lies.

Alice simply told the truth about her past – story after wild, crazy story that nobody believed anyway, but they loved her for them. At least she had dropped the atrocious British accent when she had come to the island.

And they had other fun, too – Letty and Javier went dancing a couple of nights a week, took long walks on the beach or hikes in the hills, sightseeing and exploring all around the island. Javier had lately begun trying to talk her into signing up for an online GED course with him, saying he was going to need her help if he hoped to pass it – and she thought that was probably only half an excuse. She was even toying with the idea of taking some art classes from the local college, seeing if anything "spoke" to her; the idea of channeling energy into something creative, rather than destructive, intrigued her.

Before they knew it, they had built a life there on their new island, full and exciting and breezy and fun.

Did she miss the highs she used to get from drugs and stealing? Every damn day. Sometimes so much it physically hurt. But as Javier had said that day on the plantation, all she needed was the right motivation.

And she had that, in spades. Letty finally had a home, just as Javier had promised. She had a beautiful house that she loved, with a small but affectionate, supportive, simpatico family – and larger circles around it. Jacob was flying down next month for a four-week visit during his summer vacation. Rob and Estelle would be flying down for just a few days at the end of it to take him home. Letty hadn't quite managed to forgive her Mom yet for what she'd done to Javier, but maybe they'd work things out then. And later, in the fall, Javi's nieces were planning a "surprise" visit for his birthday, which he studiously pretended to be ignorant of. And even Christian had visited twice already, and would frequently in the future, especially if he moved to Barbados like he was talking about.

Yes, she had the life she wanted, with the man she wanted. She wasn't _about_ to fuck it up. Letty Raines Pereira had every intention of staying on her very best behavior from then on.

 _ **Finito**_

 _ **Author's Note:** thank you for reading all the way to the end! If you liked the story, how about leaving a nice review to help others find it? Muchas gracias!_


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